Nica's Story 2 - Return To Green Acre
by smngry
Summary: Set months later, Nica is now quite the model patient at Green Acre. But after stumbling upon some disturbing secrets, will she be able to carry on? Meanwhile a mysterious package arrives at the asylum, spelling even more trouble for our heroine.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

5pm.

Knocking off time.

And boy was he ready for it.

Danny pulled off his gloves, the conveyor belt grinding to a halt as the bell rang out around the sorting department. Machinery hummed softly before dying into an eerie silence. The kind of silence that was music to his ears. Removing his US-X ear muffs he ran his rough, grainy hand across his forehead, dripping with sweat. He guessed he'd lost about half a kilo, this afternoon alone.

'Too hot.' He thought to himself as he ruffled his hair, trying desperately to let oxygen flow through to his scalp, burning under the cover of thick blonde hair. 'Way too hot.'

Most people had knocked off a few minutes ago, their jobs for the day finally completed. Just Danny left, getting the last of the shipments out. He started to make his way over to the big one. The feeder belt, still purring away. This was the belt that carried every single item of post into the sorting department before it was processed and assigned to whichever section it was destined for.

"Dammit Lewis," He cried, throwing his arms down by his side. "Would it kill you to turn this thing off once in a while?"

The belt, still turning, was thick and black as it snaked from upstairs and along the top of the ceiling. Round and round it circled, before finishing abruptly atop a set of metal rollers, a steep descent into the sorting department below, surrounded by a wire mesh cage.

"Up here man." A voice resonated from above.

Danny, shocked, turned his attention to the ceiling of the huge concrete room. A long, gangly leg hung over the edge of the conveyor belt. He considered climbing up to see what was going on, but the frail metal staircase leading up to the maintenance platform never struck him as being quite so safe. At his weight of nearly 210lbs he figured he had a good chance of injuring himself, maybe others, if that thing gave way.

"What's the deal?" He cupped his hand to his mouth, barking up to Lewis.

Lewis stuck his head over the edge, his short curly black hair and thick bushy moustache reminding Danny of a Marx brother. His acne didn't do much for his confidence either.

"Something's missing off the log dude." Lewis announced, shrugging his shoulders. "Figured I'd see if it had gotten stuck. Wouldn't be the first time!"

That was true. Things were always getting stuck up there. Danny looked on as Lewis disappeared again, retreating back into the rafters and off to find the missing item. He seemed to be gone a while, and with the belt still turning Danny wondered if it wouldn't be a good idea to flick the switch and deactivate it, just in case.

"Lewis?" He bellowed.

Nothing.

"Come on man, stop fucking about!" He tried again.

Still nothing.

He decided to play it safe and turn the thing off. The last thing he needed was his friend getting caught in the gears and dragged round. Health and safety would be all over it, asking why he didn't throw the switch immediately. Picking up the pace he raced past the sorting machinery dotted around and aimed for the kill switch, reaching it at a canter and plunging it with a satisfying 'CLICK'. Then silence. Finally silence. No whirring of the belt, no questions from Lewis asking why he'd switched it off. Nothing.

"Come on man this isn't funny!" He was starting to worry now. This shouldn't be happening. He must've heard him calling. There was only one thing left, and that was to climb the unstable metal staircase that wound it's way up and away from the safe, secure, cement floor. In fact he'd just reached out and grabbed the flimsy metal banister when he heard a noise.

A whooshing noise.

It was the rollers. They sounded so different when they weren't crowded out by the noise from everything else. Whether it be the belts, the laser scanners as they read each zip code or even the screeching racket from Pete's radio. Always with the radio, blasting whatever heavy metal the old prick dragged in from the car. Danny glanced over just in time to see the box land at the bottom of the rollers, coming to a sudden halt as it met the immobile rubber of the lower conveyor belt before flipping over length ways. His interest pricked up, he decided to investigate.

A fairly big, plain, rectangular box, maybe about a metre long and thirty centimetres tall, just sat there.

"Well I'll be damned." Danny sighed as he approached the box. The next thing he heard was the sound of metal, barely being held together by the ill fitting rivets, nuts and bolts as Lewis raced down from the heavens, feet pounding with every step. Reaching the bottom three steps Lewis leapt and landed, the entire frame shaking and rocking.

"Shit!" Lewis panted, out of breath, staring into Danny's plump round face. "We gotta get this through to dispatch!"

"Now?" Danny asked, taken aback by the urgency in Lewis's voice.

"Fuck yeah. This thing's got overnight written all over it!"

"Yeah right." Danny replied.

"Seriously man. Look!" Lewis pointed to the shipping label. 'Overnight' stamped in thick red ink, lending a sense of urgency to the proceedings.

"Oh man!?" Danny grabbed the box, surprised at how heavy it was, and started running. Maybe he still had time, the dispatch truck could still be here. Doubtful as it was, he had to try. But he was going to have to race down there. All the belts were off and they'd take too long to fire them back up again. As he raced along through the corridors of the US-X depot he tried to remain as calm as possible. If somebody got wind of this there'd be hell to pay. Never mind the faulty equipment these assholes had never paid to fix, it'd be Danny and Lewis that took the wrap for this fuck up. He could've sworn Lewis was right behind him, that he'd heard a voice as he raced round the corner and down the fire escape, clattering the box into the frame of the red, steel staircase. But nobody was there. Figuring he must be imagining things, he frantically raced onwards, finally reaching the dispatch garage.

"Jesus!" He gasped, looking across a sea of trucks. "Which fucking one? Please still be here!"

Grabbing the nearest driver, he quickly asked which truck was headed for Highgate and made his way over. Just in time too. The driver was sat in his cab, engine running, just folding his clipboard up behind his sun visor. Danny raced alongside, slamming his hand against the door as the truck started to move off.

"What the...?" The driver jolted upright in his seat and braked, alarmed at the sudden banging from outside.

"You forgot one!" Danny yelled, holding up the package and gesturing to the back of the truck.

The driver climbed down, leaving the engine running. That was a new one now. The bean counters upstairs wanted to keep track of the drivers and monitor any 'unusual' activity on the routes, so they'd installed engine trackers that basically told them if anybody made an unscheduled stop. If they did, a warning. Didn't sound much, but three warnings and you were gone.

"Oh 'I' forgot one did I?" The stocky frame of the driver grunted as he approached Danny.

"Well..." Danny stuttered, "You know what I mean... John..." Danny spotted the ID card hanging from the driver's breast pocket.

"Give it here!" John muttered as he yanked the package from Danny, "That ain't going anywhere overnight! None of this is." John waved his arm, gesturing to the side of the truck, irritation and anger seeping through his words. "Fucking assholes, keep me hanging round, then have the balls to lecture me when I miss the connection!? Thanks kid! Thanks a lot!". He reached the back of the truck and swung the lever counter clockwise, releasing the locking mechanism for the huge, back, double doors. Without saying another word he heaved the box into the back of the truck and closed the doors, before walking back to his cab, never acknowledging Danny again. Slamming the door, he fired the throttle, released the handbrake and the huge truck slowly and majestically pulled out of the garage. Danny relieved but embarrassed raised his hand to wave.

"Thank you..." He screamed as the truck disappeared over the horizon.

Feeling his heart rate slow to a much more sensible rhythm, Danny made his way back upstairs to his locker.

Time for a beer.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The birds sang in unison as the morning sun belted out across the forest. A young deer gently galloped by the river cutting through the luscious green paradise, occasionally stopping to take a sip of the fresh clear water, startled only by the snapping of twigs in the distance. A fox, no doubt returning home. Sanctuary after a hard night hunting. The shadows of the forest blazed across the grass, reaching out, over the wire mesh fencing and up the side of the dull, dreary grey cement walls of Green Acre Mental Facility. The window strewn first floor walkway had been basking in the glowing sun since early morning and temperatures had begun to get a little uncomfortable. Footsteps approached the walkway at a steady pace. Hurried and with an air of anxiety, Dr Roland Abner bore all the hallmarks of a man who needed to be somewhere, and fast. Crossing the walkway and letting the heat envelope him as he passed through the long glass oven, he raised an arm of his freshly ironed suit jacket and ran his handkerchief across his forehead. Beads of sweat had gathered long before entering the furnace-like atmosphere of 'D Wing', but this wasn't helping. Standing at 6' 1" tall and thin as a rake, he was quite the imposing sight to a lot of his patients, and he was glad of it. But not today, today he felt no more than four feet tall. His face carrying the look of a rabbit caught dead centre in the headlights of an oncoming car. In his forty five years in the profession he thought he'd seen it all. But that wasn't the case unfortunately. Now something new had reared its ugly head and he felt powerless. All night his wife had been reassuring him, but he still felt uneasy. This wasn't just any other day. This was judgment day as far as he was concerned.

"Honey relax," His wife had softly said the night before, as she placed a single malt whiskey by his side of the bed. He snapped his folder shut, the notes inside giving him even more to worry about, and nodded. "I think this is all just some storm in a tea cup." She tried again.

"I wish." He replied. "But this isn't a coincidence. No, there are far too many reports in here to make me think this is just a couple of patients kicking up a fuss!"

"Really? How so?" His wife had asked.

"Well for a start it's not the patients. It's the relatives that are making these accusations." He ran his hand across his chin, the stubble scratching slightly. Removing the thin, oval glasses from the bridge of his nose he placed the file on his bedside table, picking up his whiskey in the same manoeuvre. "Completely unfounded. But you know the saying, there's no smoke without fire."

"But really, why would they make accusations like that?" His wife joined him in bed, pulling the covers over her as she opened her book, lifting the bookmark free and placing it by her side on the bed.

"I don't know Mary." He took a sip. "We've never had anything like this before. I mean sure, a lot of them need a bit of help. A little bit of a help to the bathroom, help getting out of bed, whatever. But never have I seen so many reports of assault. I just refuse to believe it!"

"And what if tomorrow doesn't go as planned?" She enquired. "What if they do believe it?"

"Well, i guess we'll have to cross that bridge when we get to it. But I'll tell you something, I'm having that Eric Grant in my office! As soon as they're gone, I'm pulling him in. I don't care if he's in bed or down at some seedy little strip club, it'll not do him any harm." He paused, his mind racing. "Damned night shift. I should've just gotten rid of him when I had the chance!"

"Grant?" Mary looked surprised. "What's he got to do with this?"

"Well," Another sip before laying his glass back on the bedside table. "These events seem to occur during his shift. Day staff noticing a bruise here, maybe a little cut there. All natural when you know the way some of them act. I mean, we had one girl try ripping a leg off her bed. She tried everything, pulling, punching, kicking. Jesus she made a mess of herself. So like I say, a lot of things don't surprise me. But now this... The board of governors getting involved. It wouldn't be so bad, but they don't see the things we do every day."

He turned to Mary, his wife of thirty seven years, and found solace in her smile. No matter what, she had a smile that could illuminate a room, even after all these years...

Suddenly he glanced up, lost in his own thoughts, forgetting himself as he marched down yet another dull, lifeless corridor. He was letting this get to him and would just be glad when the whole ordeal was over.

"Let's see..." He turned, examining the doors. He was scheduled to meet the representative of the Board of Governors in Dr Weston's office and he was in danger of running late. Not just for this, but he had surgery to attend to, appointments, assessments. It didn't help that he hadn't been down here since the refurbishment either. He was still getting his bearings as he noticed Dr Weston's office door. "There you are!" He breathed a sigh of relief and approached the door, 'Dr. Abigail Weston – M.D, PhD'. Pausing to compose himself and taking a deep breath he reached out with one long shaking arm, grasped the door handle and ventured inside. Pleasantly surprised to find a familiar face waiting for him.

"Gerald, it's been a long time..." Dr Abner relaxed a little. "Welcome to Green Acre..."

And so it began.

Walking through the facility wasn't too bad, thankfully one of the janitors had been on the ball and opened some windows to let a little air in. The sun cut through the windows and lent the corridors a bright, friendly feeling as they took in their tour, stopping occasionally to meet some of the nurses, one or two of the ward doctors, even a few of the patients. Naturally the trouble causers had been confined to their rooms. It was very much a case of 'out of sight, out of mind' in that respect. So far Gerald seemed pleased. He'd been asking various questions, mainly about the handling of patients, what happened if some proved to be a little difficult, but everybody had been diligent and professional in their response. They were just leaving the common room, Dr Abner finding his spirits remarkably high as the tour came to its conclusion. He turned as he addressed his visitor, his huge hands held out in front of him as he spoke, comb over held impeccably in place throughout the inspection.

"As you can see, not a lot happens in here. This is more the relaxing part of the wing, where a patient may want to come for a bit of social bonding, either with another patient, maybe even one of our dedicated nursing team. There's obviously the TV, some reading material, we even have some board games for them to interact with each other."

Gerald glanced around as he followed his old friend Roland Abner through the common room, notepad gripped in his hand, pen frantically scribbling, ticking and crossing. Small and chunky, with a streak of his French heritage running through his accent, he and Roland had met years ago at a psychology conference in upstate New York. Since then they'd taken the time to catch up at various seminars, university lectures, even exchanging the odd email. The board of governors didn't know this, otherwise they'd never have sent him. But he knew that it would probably be a relief for Roland to have a familiar face conducting this review. Accusations of violence were never pleasant, no matter how quickly they could be quashed, or otherwise.

"This final patient we're about to meet is a truly unique case." Dr Abner continued. "A victim of a mental breakdown, she's been in our care for the last six months now. Her progress truly is staggering though."

"What makes her so unique?" Gerald asked.

"Well this patient was the recipient of a psychiatric evaluation... A court ordered one at that." Abner walked, turning his head to engage his friend. "The police found her at home, her family brutally slain, except one, her young niece. Anyhow the case came to court, the judge viewed the notes and was astounded. You see, all evidence pointed towards our girl. Finger prints, no visible entry or exit from the property by a third party. They established a motive for her too. But she seemed to be under the delusion that the murders were committed by a doll of all things. Apparently she claimed the doll, a Good Guy... You remember those?" Gerald nodded. "Well she claimed this doll, possessed by the spirit of serial killer Charles Lee Ray no less, had arrived anonymously through the mail. That same night she woke up and found her mother dead. Suicide was the coroners verdict at first. But according to our girl it was the doll. Revenge apparently for some rejection of love decades earlier. She even claimed it confessed to her later on." Dr Abner gave a little laugh and a shrug as he finished.

"And did she claim the doll killed everybody?" Gerald enquired, amazed.

"Originally yes." Dr Abner replied. "Her sister, brother in law, the nanny. Hell, even the local priest. Like I said, the only survivor was the patient's niece, They found her locked in a closet upstairs."

"So what does she believe now?" Gerald asked.

"Well she claims to have no memory of the actual events. Claims that she literally blacked out, then came to and had this 'killer doll' story in her head." Dr Abner came to a halt outside one of the generic doors that littered one of D Wings many corridors. "The one thing that she does acknowledge now though is how absurd her story actually was. She's actually shown a fantastic improvement, so much in fact that I've recently had her moved from the maximum security ward and found her to be quite the model patient down here."

Dr Abner turned and knocked on the door softly, his other hand levering the door open as he entered. Gerald followed on behind and lowered his notepad. To his surprise, there sat a young woman, mid-twenties, long brunette hair, fascinating curls hanging down her back. It took a few seconds before the fact she was in a wheelchair even registered. The girl turned away from her desk and greeted the both of them with the most beautiful smile. A slight scar visible running from her forehead, down the side of her perfect nose.

"Nica, this is a colleague of mine, Dr Gerald LeStance." Dr Abner quietly said. Gerald gave Nica a smile and a wave as he gave her a quick once over. Unable to fathom that this gentle looking paraplegic could be capable of killing a house fly, let alone an entire family.

"Dr Abner, hi." Nica beamed, she leaned to one side and gave a little wave to the stranger in the background.

"I've just been telling Gerald about how much progress you've made in the time you've been with us Nica. You've come on leaps and bounds." He threw a playful punch as the words left his mouth, a jolly tone ringing through Nica's room. "Tell us, how are you today?"

"I'm fine..." She seemed pleasantly surprised to be asked. "I'm just doing some writing."

"Oh really?" He asked. "What are you writing? I didn't know you were in contact with anybody."

"Oh no..." She paused. "Just, short stories, you know? Help to pass the time." Nica gave a little laugh.

"Well yes." Dr Abner laughed, Gerald too. "If there's one thing that's good for killing time it's writing."

"Yeah, and if there's one thing I've got to kill it's time!" Nica joked.

Dr Abner sensed a slight hint of sarcasm in Nica's tone and decided to quit while he was ahead.

"Well listen, Nica, it's been good to see you. We just thought we'd pop our heads round the door, after all, you're one of our brightest examples here. Just keep up with the writing, I'd be really interested in giving them a read if that's okay?" He offered.

"Well... They're just stories really. Nothing too serious." She replied.

"Well, if you ever change your mind, you let me know." Dr Abner turned to his old friend and gestured towards the door. Gerald turned to leave, smiling and giving Nica a wave goodbye as he left. "Oh and don't forget, we've your monthly assessment just before lunch. But don't worry, purely routine. Okay Nica?"

"Yeah, I know. I'll see you then Dr Abner. Thanks for stopping by." She smiled.

After he'd left Nica's smile faded. Slowly, a determined look materialised on her face and she went back to her writing.

Out in the corridor Dr Abner escorted his guest back to the security of Dr Weston's office where he'd arranged for some refreshments. On the way back they talked. The building, the staff, the patients, but the main topic was Nica Pirce.

"You see, at first she was nothing like that." He bragged. "There were times she would assault members of staff, including doctors. Her hygiene was less than desirable, she refused to shower, brush her teeth, comb her hair. She was literally falling to pieces. But as you can see, after some time under our supervision, a careful routine of meds and constant reviews, she's come round. She's now the model patient here at the facility. In fact, as stupid as it seems, I wish i had a thousand more just like her!"

"And her writing." Gerald asked, seriously. "You're aware she has pens, pencils, sharp instruments?"

"Well..." Dr Abner replied, stammering at this innocent enquiry. "She's proven herself immensely over this last few months Gerald. Seriously I have no worries regarding Nica Pirce, let me assure you of that."

"Wouldn't be the first time though Roland. Someone goes in, girls having a hard time, next thing you know some poor orderly's bleeding to death with a biro in their neck."

"Trust me Gerald, if I had an ounce of doubt..."

As they walked his mind started to race yet again. He was happier now despite that last question. It had been easier than he thought, but this should never have happened. Eric Grant had a lot of explaining to do.

11am.

No doubt one of the Dr Weston's minions would come hurtling through the door offering to 'help' her down the corridor. By help they meant they'd forgotten about her assessment and it was in their best interest to get her down there as quickly as possible. Before Dr Abner gave them a grilling over how to do their jobs properly. Nica was still sat in the same spot when Warren poked his head round her door and gave a little tap on the door frame.

"Hello Nica." He said.

Nica gave a sigh and turned to face Warren. His little, plump, Hawaiian face that was at first so friendly, his heart so full of enthusiasm. But ever since 'that' incident he'd had no time for Nica. She wasn't bothered, but she did feel a little sorry that Warren had been there when she finally snapped in front of Dr Weston. Ramming a hypodermic syringe straight through her hand as she tried to comfort Nica. So far through her hand, in fact, that the needle went clean through her hand and into Nica's leg. Her attitude at the time though was simply 'fuck it'. She knew she was destined for this place. Nobody believed her and in the end she'd started to doubt herself. Finally reaching the decision that she'd be safer in Green Acre than out there in the real world she'd accepted her fate and embraced the fact that she was to spend a very long time here.

"Hello Warren. How are you?" She asked, spinning on the spot, a smile on her face. The wheels of her chair made a creaking noise as she came to a rest.

"I'm pretty good. How are you?" He responded.

"I'm good. In fact if I were any better I think I could go insane. Know what I mean?" She laughed.

Warren looked at her blankly, no smile, no expression.

"Are you ready for your assessment? Dr Abner and Dr Weston are waiting for you." His words monotonous as they travelled through the dry, humid air.

"Jesus Warren, I'm just trying to lighten the mood! Yes I'm ready." She gave up. There was no point trying. The damage was done. Warren took a step into the room and held out his hand.

"Do you want..." That was as far as he got before Nica casually shrugged him off.

"Hell no, I've been doing this all my life. Not gonna start taking it easy now. Besides, I don't use my legs as it is. You want me to stop using my arms too? Fuck Warren, I'll waste away if I do that!" She wheeled past him and out into the corridor, the light seemed brighter out here.

As she gently rolled along the corridor she had a look around. There was a guy fixing the vending machine, she'd not seen him before. The usual staff were manning their positions whether answering phones or escorting another patient back to their rooms. As she passed the common room she saw one of Green Acres oldest residents sat in her usual chair. Dressing gown open and cuddling a pillow. Mavis was harmless enough but had a tendency to approach people cuddling her pillow and ranting about her son, who'd died in a motorcycle accident back in the seventies, before releasing her bowels. Luckily Nica had gotten the warning signs down to a tee this last couple of weeks and knew when to get out of there.

"Hey Mavis!" She shouted as she passed the door.

Mavis didn't even acknowledge her. Just lifted her hand in a half assed attempt and muttered some inaudible words under her breath. Her thinning grey hair a mess, her toothless grin reminding Nica of a witch from a horror movie.

"You shouldn't do that you know." Warren commented from behind. "She needs rest."

"Oh come on." Nica pushed herself along, tiring of Warren's attitude. "What's the worst that can happen?"

Just as she finished her sentence Nica turned her head, examining the nurse's station half way along the ward. Behind a tower of paperwork and files sat David, not a nurse, but one of the odd job men dotted around Green Acre. He was sat cradling a phone to his ear as he tried, at the same time, to open a packet of chips. Noticing Nica he threw the bag of chips to one side and lifted the phone from his shoulder. Muttering his goodbyes to whoever was on the other end, he stood and replaced the handset. His well toned body hidden underneath the navy blue 'maintenance' overalls, his ruffled black hair and squared jaw, Nica had to admit he was an attractive guy.

"Hey, how's my favourite girl today?" David asked as he stepped out from behind the desk and approached Nica and Warren. Nica stopped dead in her tracks, her face lighting up as she gave him a smile.

"I hope you're talking about me." She joked.

"Of course, of course." He gave her a smile back as he held his hands out, palms forward in a mock show of surrender.

"I'm doing okay. How are you?" She asked.

"Yeah I'm good, I'm good." David turned his attention to Warren. "Hi Warren."

"David..." Warren sighed, not seemingly interested in the prospect of conversation. David turned back to Nica.

"So when you gonna let me take you out of here for some wild night?" He laughed.

"Hey, I'm easy, I'll go whenever. Could always sneak me out with the mail huh?" Nica hadn't been in such a good mood this morning, but whenever she spoke with David she felt herself actually begin to relax.

"Funny you should mention that." David's eyes lit up, an idea falling upon him. "I was just about to do the rounds with the mail. If you want, I guess you could tag along, give me hand. Just don't go racing off in that thing." He motioned to Nica's wheelchair.

"Ha ha, chance would be a fine thing. I'd love to help though." She turned to Warren. "Would that be okay?"

Warren's expression didn't alter as he looked into Nica's eyes. Not that he took pleasure in denying her things, but he liked to pride himself on carrying out his duties with a professional attitude.

"No, you've got your assessment. Besides which, you're not in here on holiday Nica." He spoke with no emotion, unnerving Nica.

Just then the phone on the nursing station rang. David moved to answer before Warren cut in front of him and placed his hand on the receiver.

"Better let me take this." He glared at David. "I am the nurse after all!"

David, a little surprised at this simply held his hands up and retreated, back to Nica. Whoever was on the phone seemed to have rattled Warren. He always stuttered whenever he was under stress, and that's what he was doing now. David thought no more about it and returned his attention to Nica.

"Listen," He whispered as he leaned in to her, close enough for her to smell his deodorant. She took a deep breath and stared into his eyes, listening intently. "I make another mail round, about half five tonight. Depending on who's working, if you're waiting over by the elevators you can come make that round with me."

"Yeah?" Nica nodded, "I'd love that. Will they let me though?" She questioned the idea.

"Well I know one thing, these assholes finish at about two, then it's Grace's shift. So long as you've never fallen out of line with her she should be cool. We go way back." He assured Nica. "Just be waiting and you can come give me a hand."

Nica was excited, it'd been a while since somebody trusted her, never mind showed any interest in her as a person instead of a patient. She was about to let her happiness brim over when she noticed Warren out of the corner of her eye. He replaced the receiver and quickly marched back over. Grabbing the back of Nica's wheelchair.

"That was Dr Weston. We're late!" He seemed to be panicking.

"Ah well," David stood upright and stepped aside, waving the pair of them through. "I'll let you guys get to your business. If they give you any trouble, just blame me!"

"Don't worry, I will." Warren gave David a sly look as he started to push Nica on.

Nica smiled as David gave her a little wink before returning to his duties. They carried on for a couple of minutes until they reach the consultation room, the door held open, some masochistic attempt to entice Nica in. She had just reached the door when Dr Weston appeared, her petite frame, blonde hair and smart suit instantly reconisable.

"Dr Weston." Nica gave her a smile. "How are you?"

Dr Abigail Weston was a kind woman, but the ordeal she'd gone through at the hands of Nica Pirce just six months earlier was not something she was going to forget in a hurry. She supposed the feeling was mutual though. It was in fact her notes that had landed Nica in the position she was in now, remanded indefinitely to Green Acre.

"I'm fine Nica." Her voice was stern, "Won't you come in?"

Nica guided herself through the narrow door and up to the round consultation table. As usual there was a Dictaphone in the middle, along with the camera behind the glass screen on the far wall. Everything was recorded, both audio and visually just for the records. But Nica was determined to behave. No repeat performances, that wouldn't help anybody and it would only do damage. Especially after she'd been so well behaved to get moved down here in the first place. Wasn't easy, but eventually they succumbed to Nica's charm and here she was. Dr Weston had been on the review panel and voiced her concerns over Nica being allowed such a free role, so quickly too, and especially with her record of violence and outbursts towards others. Dr Abner on the other hand had been more than supportive in Nica's attempts. He produced notes, statistics, charts, everything he could to show his colleagues on the panel just how far Nica had come in such a short space of time. As she approached the table and came to a halt the door slammed shut behind her, Dr Weston striding past and to her chair around the other side of the huge table.

'Feel a little safer over there huh?' Nica thought.

Suddenly a knock at the door caused them both to turn and look as Dr Abner entered, apologising for his tardiness as he closed the door softly behind him.

"Ladies, I do apologise. Nature calls though. You know how it is." He joked.

Nica gave a little laugh, feeling nervous suddenly. Dr Weston leaned forward and pressed the 'Record' button on the Dictaphone, the assessment had officially begun.

"This is Dr Abigail Weston, case assessment, patient number 248697NP, Miss Nica Pirce. Also present is Dr Roland Abner, date is May 27th 2014."

"Do we have to do this every time?" Nica asked, puzzled. "It's just so official. You know?"

"Afraid so Nica," Dr Abner answered apologetically. "Just helps us keep track of everything, dates, events, what not."

"So Nica." Dr Weston piped up. "How are you feeling today?"

"I'm fine." Nica nodded. "Sleeping a lot better, my appetite's been back for a while now and I'm feeling a lot more secure now."

"Define secure for us." Dr Weston immediately bounced back.

"Well, just confident I guess. Happy with life, nothing to fear, I'm doing well and I feel all the better for it. I'm doing some creative writing, trying to engage myself more with people every day." A smile started to emerge on Nica's face.

"And the nightmares?" Dr Abner jumped in. "It's understandable if you still have the odd one here and there. It was a pretty traumatic event you went through. I've been in the profession for a long time and no matter how 'out there' people's take on events are, they're still jarring."

"No I'm getting some good sleep. No nightmares, nothing." She answered.

"What about Chucky?" Dr Weston, machine gunning the questions now. "Do you still think of him?"

"No!" Nica spat back, appalled at the very mention of the name.

"You seem angry about that question Nica. Is there any reason why?" Dr Abner softly asked.

"Let's just say I want to forget about that whole thing. Especially that doll." Nica looked down, her gaze directed at the floor.

"There's no reason to feel any shame Nica." Dr Abner continued. "It felt real. To you it WAS real. We all have our own little ways of coping with things and there's nothing we can do about it. This, doll thing, this was just your brains way of telling you things had become too much. The stress, the pressure, everything."

Nica lifted her eyes and gave Dr Abner a long silent stare.

"You say you're eating a lot more than you were?" Dr Weston not letting the assessment become derailed. "Has your appetite improved significantly or do you find you're having to make yourself eat?"

"No not at all, I'm just eating as normal. Healthy appetite, finally came back I guess."

"Any idea why you started it? Your little hunger strike I mean." Dr Abner getting another question in.

"Well, like you say, it was a huge event. I didn't know what was what. The last thing on my mind was eating, showering and making an effort with you all. I'm sorry about that I genuinely am." She turned to look at Dr Weston, her apology hidden between the sentences.

"What about now Nica?" Dr Weston continued firing the questions. "How do you feel to everybody now?"

"Great. I mean, you're the ones that got me settled, made me come around. If it weren't for you I don't know what would've happened to me."

"And what do you believe now?" Weston again. "That night I mean. What do you believe happened?"

"To be honest it's all just a blur. I don't have any memory of anything." Nica looked at the table, as though trying to search through her memory banks for some shred of information that could shed light on the events. "Last thing I remember we were all watching a home movie. Next thing after that was Officer Stanton bursting in and finding me in the elevator."

"But what do you believe now Nica?" Dr Abner rejoined the conversation. "Do you realise why you're here? Why nobody believed your story?"

"Yes," Nica nodded vigorously, "Absolutely. It was just the way things were in my mind. To be honest I don't know why it all panned out like that. Looking back, I wouldn't believe me either."

"What about Charles Lee Ray?" Dr Weston scrawled in her notepad as she asked the question. "What do you believe about Charles Lee Ray?"

"Charles Lee Ray is dead!" She stayed calm. She could feel it though, the rage building up inside her at the very mention of his name.

"Are you sure?" Dr Abner chipped in. "No doubts whatsoever?"

"No." Nica remained calm. Leaning back and taking a deep breath. If it was to be like this for the next half hour then she'd better make herself extremely comfortable.

The rest of the assessment went pretty much as expected. Questions rallied between Nica and the two doctors, but all harmless and innocent. Her aspirations were a big one. What did she think she could achieve, what were her goals, did she feel she'd be able to adapt to the outside world 'if' the time came? She'd answered carefully, knowing that one show of aggression, one wrong answer could set her back a good month, maybe even longer. But she felt happy with how it had gone. Her assessments had even been changed to bi-monthly now which was pretty bitter sweet. They didn't think she needed as much supervision and care as before, but at the same time she was now only going to get half the chances to show them how well she was doing. When all was done, she thanked Dr Weston and Dr Abner for their time and made her way back to her room. Taking a moment to have a good look around, noting anything strange, anything out of place, anybody unusual. But found nothing. She eventually reached her room and closed the door behind her, carefully making sure nobody was watching. As she rolled herself forward she lifted herself out of her wheelchair and onto her bed, taking her time before turning her now empty wheelchair till it faced her. Then, grabbing her ankles she lifted them one at a time until she could drop them into the barren seat in front of her, before lifting herself up and pushing forward so her bum now hung precariously over the empty space between her chair and her bed. Taking one last look to make sure nobody was watching through the window of her door, she started lowering her body towards the floor, as far as it would go, before lifting again. She repeated this over and over, breaking into a sweat after only five minutes. She needed to keep herself in shape, and this was the only way she could think of until she got access to the gymnasium.

Because when the time came she'd need to be alert, bright and strong.

Because the time would come.

And so would Chucky.

And she'd be ready for him...


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It was still a glorious day outside. Sunlight glaring through the glass of Green Acre's west side. D wing was bathed in a glow of early evening light and looked so calm and serene that Nica was taken aback by the tranquillity as she looked up from her magazine. Shadows cast across the entire length of the common room as the sun began to set, gently, silently whispering a goodbye to the world. She closed her magazine and looked over the front cover again. Nothing new, just the usual, same old shit she'd seen gracing the front pages of the countless reading material on offer. 'My Husband Ran Off With My Daughter... But I Still Love Him!' had been one of Nica's favourites. Just the very headline made her laugh. Why did people think spreading news like that to millions of people across the country, the world even, would ever be a good idea? Money was probably a huge factor, but the embarrassment must outweigh even the healthiest of cash incentives. She could imagine her very own headlines at times. 'Serial Killer Used Voodoo To Live On As Doll And Killed My Family... But I Survived!', that had a ring to it. She threw the magazine down, turning to examine what else was on offer. The TV set had been playing re-runs of Bewitched all day. That had gathered a little bit of a crowd. Even Mavis was sat clutching her pillow to her chest, seemingly hypnotised by the unfolding escapades playing out on screen. Nica grasped the wheels of her chair and turned before steadily heading out of the common area, her eyes occasionally drawn to the TV, canned laughter echoing around the room. Entering the hallway she looked at the clock sat high on the wall above the nurse station. Not too long and she could meet David, she was looking forward to getting off the ward and taking in some slightly different scenery, even if it was the same basic colours and endless corridors. She rolled forward and approached the senior nurse sat behind the desk, giving her a smile and a friendly tilt of the head.

"Hey Grace." Nica gushed.

"Nica... How're you doing honey?" Grace looked up noticing her immediately. Her greying shoulder length hair hanging either side of her weathered and wrinkled face, the dark green scrubs identifying her as a senior nurse. Nica had come to the conclusion that, as old as she looked, Grace was probably only about late forties. She just had the look of experience. Battle scars of her career so far.

"I'm really well. Had to get out of there." She flicked her head back, motioning to the common room. "That laughter drives me insane."

"Well, if that's the case then you're in the right place dear." Grace laughed as she ended her sentence. "You look better... Healthier, I mean. I like it. Still doing the exercises?"

"How do you mean?" Nica seemed puzzled, had Grace been watching her?

"No need to get all worried." She smiled. "I was doing my rounds one night last week and had a look in your room. Was gonna see if you needed anything, but you sure were going for it. Figured I'd best leave you to it."

"I can't believe I didn't hear you." Nica was surprised. "I hear everything usually."

"Well you were pretty distracted, you seemed to be enjoying yourself."

"It's just until they let me use the gymnasium." Nica explained. "I have to do something to stay in shape, and it's just a good way of letting off steam, honestly."

"Seriously. No problem." She held her hands up, "You have your ways, just like everybody else. Last thing you want is me laying down the law. I understand David wants to take you on a little trip too? Now that boy is encouragable, but don't you be doing anything stupid Nica. I shouldn't be letting you wander off this ward, so don't make me regret this. You got that?"

"I know." Nica nodded. "It's just nice to have something to do. I'd love something to keep me occupied full time. Help with the laundry maybe? Surely that can't be a problem?"

"Well I'll be sure to mention it to Dr Abner. So just wait and see. He's really impressed with your progress recently, so who knows?" Grace was suddenly distracted by the phone, ringing and startling her on the corner of the desk. She grabbed the receiver, raising her eyebrows in a comical fashion, obviously somebody that Grace didn't care for on the other end of the phone. Nica wheeled herself back a touch and turned, giving Grace a little wave of the hand, mouthing a 'goodbye' as she set off down the corridor and towards the elevators. As she slowly moved forward, hands thrusting her along at a steady pace, she took in the same old sights she'd become accustomed to down here. There was the odd store room, marked 'Staff Only', a couple of counselling rooms which usually had the 'Engaged' notice placed in the window, meaning somebody had broken down or just needed to talk. The disabled toilet was practically Nica's. Nobody else ever used it, so it had become a little bit of a safe place for her recently. Nobody could come in, nobody dared intrude, so if she ever felt like she needed a place to get away from all the noise and chaos then that was where she usually headed. By the time she reached the elevators David was just emerging from one of the rooms marked 'Staff Only'. He saw Nica and his face lit up.

"Hey," He beamed as she came to a stop just in front of him. He was amazed how beautiful she looked, her jeans and 'AC/DC' t-shirt were giving her a pretty hot rock chick look. Her hair beautiful and long, hanging over her shoulders like a waterfall of brunette, cascading to her chest before coming to an abrupt halt. "You look great."

"Really?" She gave David a confused look. "Just threw these on. My best ball gown was in the wash." She joked.

"Ha ha, seriously Nica. Looking good." He laughed. "Feel a little underdressed now." He said, motioning to his overalls.

"Na, you look okay. Could do with smartening up, but you're good." She giggled back. She'd never felt this way before. Correction, she'd never been allowed to feel this way before. Her mother more or less stamped out any romantic exploits before they even had started. Said it was all for the best, but Nica never understood that. She always had her suspicions it was to do with her being afraid. Afraid of being left alone, no Nica, no Barb, nobody.

"Well," David lifted his key ring from his pocket and picked the key card marked 'Staff'. Swiping it down the electronic reader at the side of the elevator door, the light changed from deathly red to an emerald green as the LED display lit up above the elevator door, indicating it was now on its way. Within seconds the whirring of the engines and the whipping of the cables came to a stop as the elevator doors slowly opened, the brightly lit interior steadily coming into view. "Shall we?" David motioned as he stepped aside allowing Nica to make her way in.

They reached the basement level in next to no time, David explaining how he'd gotten his job at Green Acre long ago. Basically a friend of a friend knew of a night job going. Nothing much, just a porters job really. Moving patients from one ward to another, helping new residents to their rooms, that kind of thing. He'd taken it because he was desperate really. Something to help pay his way through college. His parents were hardly the richest people on his block and since moving down here from Wisconsin he'd had to fund his education any way possible. He'd originally dreamed of being a teacher. Art, music, drama, whichever he could get wouldn't have mattered, but then this job came up. The money was okay, but the chance came up to make more money, do more hours, maybe even get a promotion, be a supervisor. So he'd thought long and hard and taken it. That was four years ago. Sure his money had gone up, but not like promised, and the promotion, well that never came either. He'd been thinking recently of going back to college, starting his second year all over again and getting his degree. He felt he had unfinished business there really, and that he'd let his parents down by taking this job which was basically a glorified janitors job. He wasn't doing the night shift anymore, but that was about the only positive he could take from his time at Green Acre. Girls tended to give him a wide birth once they found out he worked at a mental facility too. Like maybe he was actually an escaped convict.

"So wait..." Nica laughed as she rolled along at his side, coming to a halt as David stopped to unlock the door to the mail room. "They won't look at you twice?"

"Very rarely. Honestly." He laughed back. "To be honest it's just cool seeing their faces nowadays. The second you mention 'Mental Facility' they just clam up and pretend they have to go meet a friend."

"And college?" Nica asked. "You're thinking of going back?"

"Well it's crossed my mind. I kinda feel I owe it to myself to give it another shot. Always get the feeling that if I don't then I've just let college beat me." He explained.

"You ever heard of completion anxiety?" She smirked as she asked.

"No... What you mean?" He looked at her a little confused as he swung the door open, finally.

"It's fairly common in males apparently."

He gave her a blank look.

"I did a thesis on it for my degree. Something I never finished either." She carried on.

"Aah, I see," He said as he flicked the light switch and disappeared inside the mail room. "Another college drop out right?" His voice emerged from the room.

"Something like that." Nica felt her memories racing back to her. "It was my mother. She wasn't well. I needed to be with her. It was... Difficult."

"Yeah," He came back out pushing a mail trolley, the canvas sack suspended either side of the metal frame, the wheels creaking every rotation they made. "Parents... Who needs 'em?" He gave a little laugh. Nica just stared vacantly into the distance.

"Yeah..." She whispered to herself as David turned to lock the door back up, before quickly turning to her, arms out by his side.

"So... Are we ready to hit the road?" He smiled a huge grin and Nica was right back under his trance.

"Lead the way." She enthusiastically said.

Truth was, there wasn't much mail to deliver. There was a lot for Dr Abner. David guessed it was all notes, this patient, that patient, he figured a patient couldn't take a dump these days without Dr Abner being asked to sign it off. They did the first three floors of the west wing, which were mainly offices and assessment clinics, then stopped for a coffee at one of the vending machines. They both seemed to be enjoying the quiet and very eerie silence of the facility as they laughed and joked, both relaying stories of their past, some funny, some laced with a touch of tragedy. Not once did Nica go into her ordeal six months earlier. As far as she was concerned David didn't need to know all that. But then she figured he may do already. But then she second guessed herself and came to the conclusion that if he knew she'd been accused, evidence stacked against her, of five separate counts of first degree murder, then the last thing he'd be doing is letting her tag along in to the empty, vacant bowels of a mental asylum. No it just wouldn't happen. The mail round could really have been done in about one hour, but they took their time and spent a good two hours, neither of them claimed to be in any kind of rush. As the trolley became emptier and emptier David thought he'd give Nica the job of pushing it while he ran in and out of the various offices dropping bits here and there. Finally they were done, the clock hitting 7:30pm as they dropped the last of the mail in the inbox of a Dr Thomas Kramer. A new one on Nica, but the way David described him he was a nice guy. About their age, first job out of university, the world at his feet. They headed back to the basement level, the elevator whizzing non-stop from the fifth floor and reaching its destination in a matter of seconds. As they reached the mail room, David unlocked the door and turned to Nica.

"Think you'd be able to push that thing inside for me?" He gestured to the mail trolley and placed both hands on his crotch. "All that coffee's made me need to go."

"Sure." Nica laughed as he started to look uncomfortable, more or less dancing on the spot as he tried to hold it in. "Go nuts, I'll wait right here."

David turned and bolted down the corridor, not too far, maybe about twenty or thirty metres, before bursting through the men's room door. Nica looked into the darkness of the mail room and placed her hand around the inside of the door frame, feeling up and down, trying to find the light switch. Finally she found it and was almost blinded by the intense light that hit her, having to shield her eyes at first, lifting her hand up to block the light from burning her retinas out. When her eyes had gotten used to the light she managed to grab the mail trolley between her knees and wheeled herself forward, pushing the trolley inside as she went. Taking a look around, she wasn't all that sure where it was meant to go. There was a spot in the far corner that seemed made for it, so she decided to manoeuvre it over there and hope that was okay. She'd just wrestled it in between a stack of metal shelves and herded it into the empty spot when there was something in the corner of her eye. Leaping at her, she struggled in the blink of an eye to make out what it was but she instinctively wheeled backwards suddenly, clattering into the stack of metal shelves, mail falling from high above her, landing on the floor. The unidentified missile whizzed past her face and into the corner of the mail room. She gasped for breath, her heart pounding, as she tried to see what it was. It had landed behind the mail trolley. Nervously she moved forward, quietly, slowly, she reached out, her hand trembling as she grasped the frame of the trolley and closing her eyes and counting to three she yanked it backwards as she opened her eyes, unearthing whatever was hid behind. She exhaled in relief, the sweat dripping down her back as she took in the sight before her eyes. It was a mouse, no doubt one of hundreds, thousands even, that had taken up voluntary residence inside the walls of Green Acre. Feeling at her chest, her breath returning to normal, she spun around, noticing the mail that had fallen from above just moments earlier. Leaning down and picking it up she decided to leave it on the shelf in front of her, no doubt somebody else would deal with it when they came in later. But something hit her as she glanced at the various letters. The name they were addressed to.

Miss Nica Pirce.

How was that possible? What was this? The date too. These letters were dated nearly six months ago. Suddenly she heard footsteps down the corridor. David! Did he know about these? Thinking quickly, adrenaline coursing through her veins she did the only thing she could think of and hid them down the front of her t-shirt. Just finally pulling out her hand as David's head appeared around the corner of the door frame.

"Hey," He gave her that cute smile. "You okay?"

Nica wheeled herself forward, shaken, but trying earnestly not to give anything away. She gave him a brave smile as she left the mail room but he could sense all was not well.

"What's the matter?" He asked, gently placing his hand on her forearm. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"Nothing." She shook her head. "Just been given a pretty good scare by a mouse. I'll live."

"I getcha." He let go, "Hundreds of those things, especially down here. Come on, let's get back upstairs. Otherwise Grace's gonna have my ass."

He locked up and they headed back to the lift. Nica wasn't sure what to think now. Why was this mail down here? Why hadn't it been delivered to her? Was David in on this? Were they all in on this? One thing was for sure. She needed to get back to her room and see what the hell was going on.

That night Nica lay in her bed, the letters she had smuggled up from downstairs lay safely under her pillow as the afternoon staff made the last rounds of their shift. Right on schedule Grace stuck her head in.

"Hey honey. You need anything? Water? Asprin? David said you had a bit of a shock down there." Grace enquired.

"No, just a mouse that's all. I used to get them all the time back at home. Just been a while since I saw one, it was pretty big too." Nica answered.

"Okay then Nica, well I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night and don't let our mutual friend Mr Grant get to you. That guy's on a hiding to nowhere from what I've heard. Dr Abner's on his back and it's not going to be pretty. Besides which, he's all dick and no balls anyway." She gave Nica a wink as she retracted her head and went about checking the rest of the patients. Nica reckoned it was only about 9:30pm, which meant she had half an hour before the night shift started and lights were out. She pulled the letters from under her pillow. Only three of them, but she was curious just who had been writing to her. She started opening them, the earliest dated letter being the first to be opened and started reading. She was shocked, saddened and at the same time outraged by what she read.

'Dear Aunty Nica,

Grandma says I shouldn't be writing because you're in the bad place for what you did to mommy and daddy. But I don't know what to do because I didn't see you argue with mommy or anything like that. You were really kind when we came to stay and I know you were upset because grandma Sarah had just gone to heaven to be with granddad. I'm not allowed to ask too many questions because grandma just gets upset, I think she misses daddy. She doesn't say anything but I can hear her crying on a night when I'm in bed. The lady and mister said I have to live with grandma now because she's the only person that can look after me. So I'm starting a new school in a few days which i don't really want to but grandma says I have to.

Aunty Nica where did Chucky go? He kept cursing and then he locked me in a closet. Did he know you were upset? Is that what happened?

I'm going to post this tomorrow when grandma goes down to the store. Please write back aunty Nica, I miss you.

Alice x x x'

Nica fought back the tears as she read. Alice, did she believe that Nica could be capable of such an atrocious act? What had they told her? What had Ian's mother told her? She was besides herself with rage, the fact that these letters had been kept from her making her shake with thunderous anger. She placed the letter back in the envelope and grabbed the next one, dated nearly a month later. She opened it, hands shaking, and read what it had to say.

'Dear Aunty Nica,

Chucky was here! I came home from school and found this big box on the table, there was no sign of grandma and Chucky said she was in the cellar.'

Nica looked to the heavens, tears now flowing down her soft, delicate cheeks. What was happening? The sick bastard.

"Dear god no!" Nica whispered to herself, feeling the hatred burning within her.

She read on.

'I turned around and he was sat on the kitchen table. He surprised me. He said he wanted to play a game called 'hide the soul' and then did this really weird thing with his hand and started saying these really weird, creepy words. I don't know what he was doing but he said he had to play it with me because I'd be the one they'd least suspect? Does that sound right? He was saying these words then he stopped because grandma stood up behind me. Chucky looked really surprised and angry. I don't know what had happened, grandma had a bag around her head and was scared, but Chucky just started calling her all these names and cursing. I told him to stop but grandma chased him out of the house and he ran away. He's not been back since. Grandma is still really upset and says you were right all along but that we can't go to the police because they'll not believe her. Just like they didn't believe you.

What does she mean aunty Nica? Did Chucky kill my mommy and daddy? He always said he was my friend to the end and I really thought he was nice, but he scared me when he started saying those things to grandma.

We're living with grandma's friend at the minute because she thinks he might come back. Please please please write back aunty Nica. The address is 1798 Laurel Avenue, Aspen, Colorado. I don't remember the zip code, but I don't think it matters that much.

Alice x x x'

'Jesus' Nica thought to herself as she tried to take in what Alice had said. What the hell was he trying to do? Why did he go to Alice? What the fuck did he mean she'd be the person they'd least suspect? Hide the soul? What was he doing? Then it dawned on her. She felt sick, nauseous and like she'd been hit with a hammer. The sick bastard. He was trying to do the same thing that had gotten him stuck in that fucking doll in the first place. He was trying to get into Alice. She didn't know how this all worked, but obviously there was a way to do it. He'd already proved that, twenty five years ago, when he transferred his soul into that fucking doll and ended becoming the plastic freak Nica had encountered that night months ago. What was he planning on doing? What would happen to Alice? How could somebody be so cruel, so twisted, so evil? Nica's head was spinning, partly with revulsion, but also with amplified anger and sickness. She almost forgot that there was a third letter, she threw the second letter from Alice to the ground and reached for the third and final envelope. This was different though. The writing. It was more literate, less child-like, like a grownup had written it. Not pausing to mull it over any longer, Nica tore open the envelope and frantically yanked out the letter.

'Nica,

Words fail me right now.

I'm sat here speechless, knowing that you are sat in that place, innocent, but alas, knowing there is nothing I can do.

You tried yourself to tell this story, and they threw you in that place and left you for the lions. So you will understand that I cannot possibly go to the police and tell them the truth. If I do then I will be leaving Alice out here on her own, unable to look after herself, and completely at the mercy of that beast.

I hope you understand and I hope it is of some comfort that you know that the truth is acknowledged out here. I know my son's death was nothing to do with you and I cannot possibly imagine what you have been through with all this. Although we've only met briefly in the past, I have always had a respect for the way you have rallied yourself and never given up, despite your condition.

I only hope that you can do the same now, in that hell hole you find yourself in. As I have already said, there is no way I can go to the police.

I am so sorry Nica

May God forgive me.

Diane'

Nica couldn't believe it. Diane, Ian's own mother had witnessed Chucky first hand? She had survived him, just like Nica, but was refusing to go to the police? At first Nica was infuriated. But then, slowly, she realised that Diane was absolutely right. What would happen? Diane would be thrown in here alongside Nica. Then Alice would be at the whim of Chucky. He'd have no problem stalking her, ensnaring her and then... God only knows what. No if this was for the greater good, if it meant Alice would be safe, then Nica was at peace with that. She wouldn't have it any other way. Her head still spinning, Nica noticed the voices down the corridor.

Change over. The night shift were just starting. Chief amongst the Indians? Eric Grant.

Nica picked up the letters, envelopes too, and placed them safely under the mattress of her bed. She was going to struggle to sleep tonight. Just as everything seemed to be going so well too.

It was about 3am when Nica was awoken. She only knew that because she got a pretty good look at Eric Grant's wrist watch as she woke up and found him forcing himself on her. She was completely surprised as she woke up, still in a daze, like an ongoing dream as she felt his blubbery stomach up against hers. His hands had each grabbed her wrists and were holding her down on the bed as he ran his tongue up the side of her face, his hair thick with grease had fallen out of place, covering his eyes. She tried screaming but suddenly felt his hand release her wrist and clamp his torch down on her throat, strangling her. Unable to breathe she struggled to make even the tiniest sound as he let go of her other wrist and ran his hand down the side of her body. Nica panicked and threw her hands about, thrashing, grabbing the torch he was using to starve her of oxygen, but unable to lift it, his grip was tight and his strength was too much. He probably weighed as much as a heavy weight wrestler, but without the muscle definition. Nica didn't know what to do, her eyes looked all around as she tried in vain to find some instrument to fight him off, but obviously there was nothing. Even her pencils, which could've been used, were on the desk in the far corner of the room. Then suddenly he spoke. Whispered would be more precise.

"Got a lot of fight in you Pirce!" He grunted, his hands running down to the parts of her body she could no longer feel. She was scared mainly because of that fact. Her eyes laboured to see what he was doing, but she could tell his hand had gone under her nightgown and were feeling around for something. She choked and gasped as she tried to inhale, even a tiny slither of air. Then he leaned in, his tongue starting to leap from the mouth sat atop his grotesque double chin, and that was when Nica took her chance. Time seemed to slow down as something ignited inside her brain, she picked out his weak spot and pulled back her right arm. Then in one flowing motion she curled her hand up in a fist and launched it straight at his nose, making impact right on the spot she'd pin pointed. Grant shot backwards, glasses splintering across the bridge, his hands instantly pulled away from Nica's nightgown and the torch he had been pressing against her throat. He grabbed his nose, blood streaming from his nostrils and fell off the bed. Nica took a deep breath and sat up, still dazed and shocked at what had just happened. She looked at the image of Eric Grant laying on the floor of her room, blood spilling from his face. As though telepathic he looked up, staring Nica straight in the eyes.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH!" He spat. "You've broke my fucking nose!" His voice waivered to an inaudible cry as he finished.

Still Nica sat up, unable to do anything but stare. She suddenly felt something she'd not felt since that last night at home. She felt the electricity racing up her spine and into her chest as she stared straight back at him, not blinking, not flinching. Calmly she pulled off her covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed, resting the palms of her hands on her knees.

"What's up Grant?" She smiled, breathing faster and faster. "Don't you wanna party?"

Grant stood up, hands still fixed to his nose, and staggered backwards. Tears racing from his eyes, he grabbed the frame of Nica's door as he fell and tried to hold himself up. He failed.

"You fucking bitch!" He spat again.

"That all you've got?" Nica shot straight back.

"You cunt!" He exploded There was venom drizzled over every word. "I'll see you for this Pirce! You can count on that!" He stood, and raced from the room.

Nica laid back down, heart racing from what had just happened. Her body felt charged with static, every hair stood to attention. She was like a coiled spring, a cobra, senses alert and ready for anything. She eventually managed to calm down, the adrenaline subsiding, and finally drifted back to sleep.

A couple hours later a van raced down the highway. The sunlight bouncing off the silver frame, the blue US-X logo announcing another delivery by America's finest logistics company. One more drop off for the driver and that was it. Nearly 5am and he was out way past his allotted time. He'd been struggling to find the place though, had to stop off in town and ask directions, which had involved him coming back down the highway and taking a right down some dirt track. The large, non-descript box on his passenger seat had been delayed a day already, so he was glad to finally be dropping it off.

"Hope this is the right place." The driver said out loud, looking at the sign by the mesh fence and security gates. "Green Acre Mental Facility..."

Inside the box the thoughts were positive.

'Definitely the right place, you fucking idiot!'


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The sweat dripped down David's back as he threw box after box across the mail room. Where the fuck had it all come from? Most of them were marked 'fragile' but David couldn't give a shit about that. If they wanted them handling delicately then Gregg should be here, instead of calling in sick and having David start so early. He'd literally walked in his apartment, had a shower, fallen asleep on the couch then rudely been woken up, the phone raising him from a semi-lucid dream. Poor little Gregg needed covering so here he was. Forced to start this same boring routine all over again. The most annoying thing was that he knew without a doubt Gregg was perfectly fine. He was just a lazy motherfucker. He'd even bet money that their supervisor, Don, was aware of this. But what did Don care? He wasn't the one having to haul his ass down here and cover the early shift. He'd just finished heaving yet another 'fragile' item of mail across the room when there was a knock at the door. David stopped, turning his head to examine his guest as he took a breather, doubled over, hands on his knees.

"Say there sonny." The old man blinked through the extremely thick lenses of his glasses, his head thick with a snowy frosting of hair, bushy eyebrows resting atop his eyes like a couple of frozen caterpillars. "This here the mail room?"

"Yeah," David stood upright, breathing heavy. He turned and took a step towards his new friend, taking care to stride over a couple of smaller boxes. "You got something to add to this organised chaos?" David laughed.

"Looks like it." The old man gave a friendly smile, producing a large rectangular package, 'US-X' printed down one side. Nothing else special about it, indistinctive, boring tan paper wrapped around the box, 'fragile' yet again emblazoned down the other side. "Want to grab it? Things like this get kinda heavy when you get to my age." The old man laughed again as David grabbed the box. He was right, it was heavy. Definitely heavier than David had imagined upon seeing it.

"Jesus. What's in here?" David asked. The old man produced a tablet and stylus from his pocket, handing them to David in one fluid motion.

"Be damned if I know son." He held out the tablet, running the index finger of his other hand under his nose, sniffing, as if to clear his nose, at the same time. "I just get to drop these things off, they don't tell me anything else, except where to deliver them. Even then they did a lousy job. Does everybody have a hard time finding this place?"

"Sure they do." David grabbed the tablet, swinging the stylus into his hand and signing his name in the shaded box halfway down the screen. "I think that's the point ya know. Make it hard to get in to, should make it hard to get away from." David handed the tablet back to the driver.

"Well," He gently took the tablet, holding it up, at an angle, as if to make out what was on the screen. "Least I should know for next time huh? You got a surname son?" He held the stylus up to the screen, hand trembling as he awaited David's response.

"What?" David seemed startled as he examined the box once more, turning it over in his hands. No name, no return address.

"Surname son?" The old man asked again.

"Oh yeah, Jacobs." He answered, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs brought on by the lack of sleep.

"Well David Jacobs," The old man whizzed around his screen, obviously more at ease with technology than his appearance would suggest. "I'll bid you farewell. Any place I could get a coffee around here?"

"Erm..." David thought. "Yeah, I'll have to get you the elevator." David placed the box on one of the metal shelves standing to his side and followed the old man out of the door, turning to close and lock it before heading to the elevator. He walked with the old man sparking up a conversation to relieve the tension. "Don't expect anything from the coffee. It's just one of those automated machines, the powdered shit."

"Son, I'd suck rabbit piss through my dear old mother's pantyhose I'm that thirsty, god rest her soul." He laughed. David had to laugh at that too. The image it conjured up would take some beating. As they reached the elevator David fished out his key ring and swiped his key card down the reader. The familiar changing of light from red to green, followed by a low beeping noise, request successful.

"Think I'll come with you." David decided. "The mail can wait till later. Only supplies, nothing important."

With that the elevator arrived, the doors sliding open for the two to step in. David spun and jabbed the button for the ground floor. The doors pausing before gently sliding shut and carrying them off, and away.

The box sat on the shelf, completely still. The mouse from the previous night entered the mail room, one of the many stops on its trip around the grounds, food the target of the night. It sat on its hind legs, sniffing the air, hands out in front of its chest, whiskers vibrating frantically. Something else was in here. Something new. It scurried along the floor, weaving in and out of the boxes, envelopes and the odd mouse trap, before reaching a broom. Without thinking, the mouse leapt, clearing the dirty head of the broom and landing gracefully on the handle, claws sinking in, holding on. Without stopping for a second it darted up the handle and onto the table the broom had been delicately leaned up against, slipping onto the smooth finish of the wood without hesitating and darting across the open newspaper laid out upon the surface. It stopped at the edge of the table, sniffing the air again. It could sense something, a rotten smell that needed investigating. Whipping its head left to right, the mouse stood at the edge of the table, its little paws, both front and back wrapped around the radius of the table edge. Then in one sudden movement it swung its body back before throwing itself forward, catapulting itself across the gap between the table and the stack of metal shelves, landing with sheer grace. The smell was stronger. Nose up again, it seemed to be higher, above the mouse somewhere. The mouse looked for a way up. Over in the corner there was a supporting metal leg that ran the full height of the shelves. Gripping the holes along the leg of the shelves, the mouse climbed up, using the shelf holes as makeshift rungs on a ladder, before finally reaching its destination. There in front of it sat a box. Long, not so tall. The mouse approached the box and inhaled repeatedly. This was it. Whatever was inside had an unfamiliar smell, it was intriguing, as though daring the mouse to delve deeper. Taking the bait the mouse dug its front paws into the side of the soft, fresh cardboard, claws extending, digging in and gripping, allowing the mouse to cautiously climb its way up the side and onto the top of the box. The smell seemed stronger down the middle, where the tape had been positioned to hold the box closed. The mouse slowly moved down the middle of the box, stopping every now and then, checking out the surroundings, before finally coming to a stop at one end. It could hear something, feel it in fact. Felt like a rumbling and sounded like a rustling as something moved inside. Suddenly the mouse was taken by surprise, blinded by a flash of light, the knife shooting from the middle of the tape, right between its eyes. That was the last thing the mouse saw, as the blade sliced straight through its face and out of its back, its heart stopping in an instant. No time for shock. The knife retreated a touch before coming back up. Then again, moving down the line of tape with each thrust forward and pull back. As it reached the bottom of the box the knife disappeared back inside, before coming up and working its way along the bottom, slicing open the tape, more and more with each cut. Then it disappeared again. Reappearing at the top of the box, the same motions, the same objective. When all was done the box suddenly flew open, polystyrene spilling out, the light blinding to the inhabitant. He was finally here. It was show time. Looking around, the new resident of Green Acre Mental Asylum noticed one thing, and it wasn't good news. The door was locked.

"Fuck!" He cursed.

David looked up from the plug socket he was tampering with, bleary eyed, a yawn escaping from his mouth. Nearly 2pm according to the clock on the far wall.

"I said are you alright?" Nica asked, lowering her head and tilting as she gave him that award winning smile.

"Yeah," David answered standing straight up and stretching. "Just tired. How you doing?"

"I'm not bad." The smile disappeared from Nica's face as she sunk back into her seat, her arms pulling her cardigan closed across her chest. "Didn't sleep too well, that's all."

"No shit." David yawned again. He noticed her solemn expression. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No I'm..." She gestured down the corridor. "...Just on my way to see Dr Abner."

"Wow." David seemed surprised. "Twice in two days? You know he's married right?"

"What?" The smile returned to Nica's face as she playfully threw her hand, David just jumping to the side, dodging contact and laughing. "He should be so lucky."

"Yeah." David sighed. "He would be."

Nica's look turned a touch more serious as she tried to read David's expressions. She was just about to say something when she heard a voice behind her.

"Nica?" Dr Abner stuck his head out of his office. Looking to the right, then to the left and spotting her. He took a step outside his office and held the door open, gesturing inside with his other hand and giving Nica a welcoming smile. "You wanted to see me?"

Nica gave David a defeated look and grabbed her wheels, turning on the spot. She turned her head back as she slowly started to move off.

"Maybe I'll see you later?" She asked.

"Hopefully." David waved before returning to the power socket, screwdriver at the ready. He was beat. He just wanted to get this done and go home. Back to bed. Because it was more than likely he was going to be back here very early again the next morning.

Dr Abner waited in his office. Just when he thought all this talk of abuse and violence had subsided, here was another report. Only this time he had a name, a face, a time and a date. Not something to be taken lightly, it sickened Dr Abner that this happened at all, but for the report to come from Nica Pirce, a T5 paraplegic that literally had no way to defend herself, well this was just unfathomable. According to Miss Pirce's report, she had fought him off. Quite visciously in fact, but that wasn't the point. No, Eric Grant was going to be called in as soon as he arrived for work tonight and given an indefinite leave of absence, pending further inquiry, obviously. Reclining in his chair, he let the soft leather wrap around him as he closed his eyes and tried to remain calm. Reaching out for his office phone, he speed dialled the office of Dr Abigail Weston and beckoned her to his office. She wasn't going to like this, but she was the only one available and there was nothing he could do. Besides, he'd managed to land her this job, attractive salary, generous pension and incredibly flexible holidays, he figured she owed him the odd favour here and there. He decided this was the time for that bottle of scotch he'd been keeping locked away for the last four months and stood from his warm seat, the creak as he stood making him feel the chair was almost as old as Dr Abner himself. He had just opened the filing cabinet and lifted the bottle of honey gold liquid, rolling it around in his hands, when there was a knock at the door. He spun to see the small, blonde silhouette of Dr Weston standing there.

"Come." He boomed.

The door opened, Dr Weston quickly letting herself in, never removing her hand from the door handle until she had closed it fully behind her. She gave him a little smile as he held his hand out, gesturing to the empty seat across from his. They both took a seat as Dr Abner opened the bottle, the snapping of the fresh seal resonating around the office. He held the bottle up.

"Abigail?" He waved the bottle.

"No, thank you." She politely refused. She couldn't stand the stuff, and she wasn't that keen on socialising with the old fart either. Retracting his hand, Dr Abner poured himself a decent measure before screwing the lid back on and setting the bottle down by the side of his chair. Just in case anybody should come in unannounced.

"I suppose you're wondering what's got me at this stuff?" He said, holding the glass of single malt aloft. "Only natural. I don't make a habit of this you know."

"I understand Dr Abner." Dr Weston responded. "What is it I can do for you?"

"We have a problem my dear. A big one." He took a drink from the glass.

"How do you mean?" She asked.

"Eric Grant." He remained calm.

"Grant? What about him?" Dr Weston seemed confused.

"Only another report of assault. A sexual one. I've given that man enough chances and I'm afraid this is just one bridge I can't gap for him. In fact I plain refuse to." Dr Abner sighed.

"I see..." She paused. "And who's made this report?" She enquired.

"That's not important." He leaned forward, crossing his arms in front of his chest, cradling his glass close to his heart. "Needless to say I simply can't allow him to continue working here. At least not until this whole mess has been investigated. By the proper authorities I mean."

"That makes sense." She seemed to know what was coming. "But he's the senior night nurse. The night shift needs him."

"Well Abigail, that's where you come in. I need you to do me a favour." He leaned forward a touch more, urgency in his voice.

"Oh no, now Dr Abner I couldn't possibly..." She started, but he interrupted.

"Sure, sure you could." His expression turned to one of desperation. "It wouldn't be for long. I'll get straight onto the agency tomorrow and I'm sure they'll have a replacement out by next week."

"But Dr Abner, the night shift?" She seemed astounded he'd even asked. "I left all the nursing behind when I graduated and became a doctor. This isn't really my job."

"You do like your job here don't you?" He leaned back, slowly turning his glass, the whiskey sloshing around.

"Of course I do." She gasped.

"Well it'd be a shame if something was to happen to it." He gave her a look. Menacing, cold, heartless. "I mean, I can't have somebody here that isn't a team player. Can I?"

"No..." She was defeated. It was a shitty trick to play, but she knew when her card was up. "I'll cancel any plans. Am I okay to head home and get some rest?"

"But of course." Dr Abner replied, happy again. "Come back for about 10pm. I'm calling Grant to come in a little earlier so I can place him on paid suspension. Damned union, if it were up to me he wouldn't be getting a dime."

"Okay," She stood from her seat, downhearted. She walked to the door turning to address Dr Abner as she grabbed the handle. His smug face would undoubtedly be eyeing her up. Heels, stockings, skirt, the lot. But she had gotten used to it during her time here. "Until later then Doctor."

"Indeed." He replied. She turned just to see him correct his gaze. "Oh and Abigail..."

Dr Weston had just pulled the door open and taken one step. She leaned back, her head tilting to acknowledge the old pervert.

"Thank you for this." He sneered.

She nodded as she left, walking back to her office and cancelling any appointments. She was fine with getting the looks from her male colleagues, turned her on from time to time in fact. But having to go from a respected doctor and back to a nurse, on the night shift too. That wasn't on. But as she walked she had one positive thought.

'What's a few night shifts in the grand scheme of things? Could be worse. I could be dead.'

Finally David was able to clock out and get home. As he emerged from the elevator and entered the maze like bowels of the facilities basement he suddenly remembered something. His jacket. Jesus, he was nearly heading home without his jacket. Not that he needed it. It was like a heatwave outside, but his apartment keys were in the pocket. Trying to think where he'd left his jacket as he stumbled into work that morning, he passed the mail room. His brain made the connection as he suddenly swung his body round and stopped at the mail room door. Lifting the huge key ring from his overalls pocket he inserted the key in the rusty old lock and turned it sharply anti-clockwise, feeling the lever lift the lock. Opening the door he was amazed by what greeted him. Everything was just as he left it. Why hadn't anybody been and sorted this mess out? If he was in early doing somebody else's job then he was gonna be damned if he was fucking about doing the mail run too. He spotted his jacket, flung over the chair next to the table and made his way to it, lifting it and throwing it over his broad shoulders. It was then that he noticed something strange. Not quite right. The box. That mysterious box he'd dumped on the shelf, it was open. Somebody had been in here. Don? That was the only person it could be. But why the hell hadn't he taken any of this mail? Too tired to try and make sense of anything else this day could throw at him, David trudged back to the door of the mail room and closed the door, completely missing the exposed ventilation shaft in the bottom corner of the room. As he snapped the lock back, he heard the satisfying click indicating the room was now secure. David left work and began the half hour walk back to his neighbourhood. Blissfully unaware of just how lucky he had been.

Three hours! Three fucking hours he'd been in that mail room. Why hadn't he seen that fucking shaft? Maybe he was getting rusty. Maybe he was just that used to having it easy nowadays. Delivered, unsuspected, getting the job done, then leaving some poor fucker to take the blame. He had to laugh at that. Although he had been infuriated, blinded by rage, somehow only just managing to retain his composure as she taunted him in that packed courtroom.

"I'm still alive!" She'd screamed, laughing. Bitch.

Well she'd soon see how alive she felt. He was quite excited by the challenge at hand. He hadn't been forced to work for his thrill in a while, and although a kill was a kill, it just seemed so much better when you'd put the effort in. That mail room hadn't been a complete waste of time either. There was all kinds of shit down there, picture wire, nails, hammers, all sorts. The only problem was these fucking overalls. It was bad enough carrying these things in normal pockets, but overalls this size? A fucking nightmare. As he scuttled along on his hands and knees through the air vents he could feel the knife occasionally sticking into his leg. It didn't hurt, that would be impossible, but it was so annoying. In the end he'd only been able to carry the bare minimum, and being something of a traditionalist, he'd taken the picture wire. It was just one of those things. So versatile. He stopped, pausing to check his current location, there was a mesh grill up ahead and he needed to see where he was. The way he figured, he needed to get up to the maximum security ward. That's where she'd be. No way would they have her anywhere else. She was obviously a fucking psycho. He'd been crawling along for what seemed an eternity, but was suddenly alerted to this mesh grill due to the light flowing in from below. As he approached it, he crawled slowly, in case anybody should hear. Beneath him he could make out what seemed to be a restroom. Male too. He could tell with the urinals littered along the far wall. This was as good a place as any to get out. He had no idea where he was, there were that many ups and downs to these vents that you could spend a week inside with a compass and have no idea where you were going. He'd already spent nearly a full day climbing up and down and was getting nowhere fast, all he was doing was getting frustrated. Crouching, he brought his foot crashing down on the metal grill. It moved, but not much. He tried again, the grill bending, but still not giving. He tried again and again. Around about the seventh time the grill finally gave up the ghost and fell, hitting the tiled floor with a clatter. Taking one more check, he finally leapt out and landed on the cold floor, the light much brighter from down here. All of a sudden he could hear something. Somebody was coming. There was a voice, a raised voice at that, and it was headed this way.

Throwing his fists at anything and everything he could see, Eric Grant staggered down the corridor, obscenities spilling from his lips. His eyes were black and the two steri-strips placed across the bridge of his shattered nose were of no use whatsoever. He knew something was wrong when the fucker Abner called him to come in early. He never thought Pirce would report him, especially not so soon. But she had. That fucking bitch. He didn't even get anything for his trouble either. The psycho coming to and landing one right on the end of his nose. He raised his hand to his swollen nose as he remembered the incidents of last night. Fair enough things had gotten out of hand, but now this? 'Suspended pending further inquiry' the wrinkled old bastard had said, taking great pleasure in delivering the news from the other side of his antique desk. The look on his face had been enough to make Grant fly into a rage. He could have wiped that look from his face in two seconds, probably have put him in hospital too. But he'd kept cool somehow. It was Pirce's word against his at the end of the day. She had bruises, apparently, but they could have come from anywhere. As for Grant's injuries, he'd just say he came off his bike on the way home. Try proving that wrong. His eyes fixed on the restroom door as he quickly slipped in, throwing his weight behind each push through the two doors and into the bright, tiled interior. He stood at the basin, hands resting either side of the hot and cold taps, staring straight into the mirror at his battered reflection. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as his hair fell slightly out of place, the gel no doubt wilting due to the sudden perspiration. Suddenly he heard something, from the stall behind him. A laughing.

"Who's there?" His voice was raised. But no answer came. "I'm telling you man, now's not the time to fuck with me. Who's there?" Still no answer. He took a step and sunk to his hands and knees, checking under the door of each stall. Nobody in there. As he stood back up he decided to open the door of the first stall, as if by accident. Placing his hand on the handle he stood up, pushing as he did so. The door fell open, nobody there. He moved on to the next door, throwing it open sharply, still nobody there. He reached the third and final door, knowing full well whoever was in here was hiding in this third and final stall. Quietly he grabbed the door handle, sweat pulsating from every pore of his body, nerves beginning to kick in, his anger giving way to a fear he hadn't felt before. Without thinking he threw the final door open and again... Nothing. He couldn't believe it. He must be hearing things. He started to calm down, his chest banging from the experience. Then as he turned back to the basins, something strange caught his eye. Over by the very door he'd entered through, was something on the floor, by the trash can. Grant turned his head and finally got a good view of his guest. It was a doll. Not just any doll, a Good Guy. He walked over to it, without thinking, and lifted the little guy up. He remembered these things, hell his kid brother had one years back. People couldn't get hold of these things back in the late eighties. They weren't too common now, the company seemed to disappear without trace years ago. But this one was strange. It looked like it had been customised. Stitches and staples ran down its face, parts of the metal skull underneath exposed. One of the eye sockets was absolutely mangled, like somebody had given it a good going over with a knife or something. This thing was creepy, but probably valuable.

"Hey there little fella." Grant joked. "You wanna come home with me?"

"Hi... I'm Chucky... Wanna play?" The doll asked, turning its head and blinking. The way its mouth opened, showing gum as it talked was a little unnerving.

"You bet I do." Grant answered taking the doll into the stall. He placed it on the toilet seat and patted it on the head. "You make sure you don't crap your pants 'Schmucky', yeah?" He sarcastically smirked, returning to the basin, leaving the doll on the toilet. As he approached the basin he glanced in the mirror at the doll. It was a freaky looking thing. He ran some cold water into the basin and leaned forward, gently splashing the water on his face, the cool, refreshing feeling making him feel better. He stopped the tap and lifted his head to the mirror again, but was taken aback. Chucky was gone! Grant spun on the spot, backing up against the basin, head spinning left, then right, no idea what had just happened. Cautiously he approached the toilet stall and stepped inside, figuring maybe the doll fell off, maybe landed down the side of the toilet, it could even have landed in the next stall. But the doll wasn't in there. No sign of it. Grant was confused as he slowly knelt down to check under the other stalls. Looking along the floor, the entire length of the restroom he was amazed, there was no sign of it. Then suddenly he heard a scream. A high pitched war cry coming from above as something landed on his back, wrapping something around his neck before he could get his fingers up to stop it. It only felt small, but he could feel it, kicking his back as he stood and spun around frantically struggling, trying to shake it off. The screaming carried on, only now it wasn't screaming as such, it was more sentences, riddled with anger and venom.

"Night night asshole!" The voice seemed to cry as the wire around his throat was pulled even tighter, slicing into his skin, blood starting to weep from the cut it was making, deeper every second.

"Help..." Grant barely managing a whisper. Nobody could hear him. Not even outside the door. But he tried to stay awake, tried to make it to the basin, figure out what was going on. As he staggered out of the stall he caught a glimpse of it in the mirror. Was it?! Was it the fucking doll?! No that was impossible! But that's what it looked like. The doll pulled back even further, more or less standing on his back, no doubt trying to add leverage to its fatal grip as it choked the life from him. He reached out for the basin, looking for something, anything to steady himself as he started to blackout. His eyes started to close as his hearing became muffled. There was no air in his lungs and he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his ribs, down his right side. As he looked down, dazed, he swore he saw blood. Then with his last remaining energy he looked up again, into the mirror and saw the evil, sadistic face of the doll pulling on the wire around his neck with one hand, while lifting a bloodstained knife with the other, the evil smile growing into a cruel, foul grin. With that he fell face first. The basin shattering into a hundred pieces as his skull made contact with the porcelain, down he went. The last breath leaving his body as Chucky released his killer grip. And with that last breath, Eric Grant died.

That was fun, although it was kind of a mess to clean up. He had no idea who this guy was, but he'd just given him a good workout. He really felt alive now. He likened killing to sex. The most fun was in the anticipation, the chase. A lot of the time the actual deed was nothing compared to that build up, and it often left a lot of cleaning up afterwards. He had to laugh. He'd managed to drag this guy, and he wasn't exactly small, into the end stall and sit him there. The good thing about this voodoo shit was nothing made sense. To look at him you'd think he was harmless, even if you knew his story. But the truth was he possessed more than enough strength. He'd dragged that fat bastard halfway along the floor anyway, locking the door then slipping underneath, hopefully nobody would find him for a while. Opening the door to the rest room he stuck his head out, only a little and was amazed to find endless corridor either side of him. Empty corridor too. But that was no good. He needed something to get him from A to B. Why the fuck didn't he just stay in the shafts? Just as he thought it was starting to get difficult he heard something down the end of the corridor. Narrowing his eyes and focusing he could make out the figure of a woman. A mature woman at that, she seemed to be heading this way pushing a trolley, but this was good. It was a trolley with an apron down either side. This could be useful to him. He stepped back into the doorway, allowing it to close more or less fully as the woman approached.

'She must be seventy if she's a day' Chucky though to himself. Her short grey hair, almost a buzzcut it was that short, and hampered walk seemed to signal retirement age for this old crow. She would reach that retirement too, because for once, somebody was actually worth more alive than dead to him. He watched as she stopped outside the female restroom and left the trolley unattended. Making her way inside for, well, god knows what. 'She could be in there for hours' He thought, laughing to himself. Opening the door again and making sure nobody was looking, Chucky quickly dashed from the male restroom and shot underneath the apron of the trolley. The only thing to do now was find out where he was headed.

Luckily the old girl was doing her rounds with the last of the medication, her next stop was Maximum Security too which was music to Chucky's ears. She headed to the elevators after stopping off at the nurses' station, picking up her notes for the dosages etc and they were on their way. The elevator doors sliding open as the old woman pushed the trolley slowly down the corridor and to the security desk.

"Hey Pearl." The voice of the security guard bounced off the walls of the narrow corridor. "What you got for us tonight?"

"Oh just the usual." She giggled. "Am I okay to leave this with you Ralph?"

"Sure thing." The voice cheerfully answered. "I'll take it in and let Walt set about distributing them."

"Okay." She said. "Don't you boys go working too hard. G'night."

"G'night Pearl. Take care." Ralph softly spoke as he grabbed the trolley and yanked it away from the wall. He pulled his nightstick from his belt and, like every night, used it to lift the apron of the trolley checking underneath.

All clear.

Ralph swiped his key card down the reader and stepped through the security door with the trolley. Unaware that another of Green Acres ventilation grills had mysteriously fallen from the wall.

Back in the shafts, but at least he knew where he was now. It was only a matter of time. All the cells had a vent. Nothing that could be removed, but they still had one to allow air in. Over the course of an hour, he figured he must've checked every cell twice. No sign of the bitch. Where the fuck was she? He'd even gone as far as monitoring the routine the guards had in place for patrols. As far as he could make out, one of them stayed in the office, locked in and monitoring every cell on the wing, while the other three made their little walks up and down. One interesting thing, the cell doors all seemed to be locked electrically. That was interesting, and it gave Chucky an idea. He stopped at a random cell and looked inside. There, sat on the end of his bed, sat a man. Not old, probably about early thirties, long shoulder length hair, stubble formed on his chin. Quite thin, not dangerously thin, but the way his orange jumpsuit hung from his frame seemed to give him a weak look. Like somebody that could be approached. Chucky decided to put his plan into action. What did he have to lose?

"Hey?" The voice whispered.

At first he thought he was hearing things. Sat on the end of his bed, trying to clear his mind, then that. No it couldn't be. Not even the guards spoke to them up here. But there it was again.

"Hey... You!" It was louder this time.

The man stood from his bed and raced to the bars of his room. Calling to the nearest guard.

"Hey! You gotta help me man. There's a voice coming from somewhere in here!"

"Sure there is Locke." The voice bounced back from down the corridor. "Pipe down and get to sleep!"

Looking around, a little freaked out, Jonathan Locke answered, not sure who or what he was speaking to. Or even if what he was answering was real.

"Hello?" He extended the reply.

"Aah, finally." The voice came back. "I'm down here idiot!"

"What?" Jonathan looked down, his eyes noticing the air vent. "You're in there?" He sunk to his hands and knees.

"Yeah. Now shut up." The voice seemed to be getting angry. "I'm looking for someone."

"In the vent?" Jonathan was confused.

"No. In one of the cells. A woman. Young, in a wheelchair." The mysterious voice answered.

"Oh her?" He knew the girl. "Yeah they moved her."

"Shit!" The voice exploded. "Where to?"

"I dunno man. Probably down to the first floor. That's where I heard they usually take the rehab cases. Evaluation, that kinda shit."

"God damn! Can you take me there?" The voice asked.

"No way dude." He laughed. "I'm kinda locked in?" He gestured to the iron bars of his cell.

"I can sort that. Can you take me?" As the voice spoke it got a little louder. Jonathan noticed that now, in the vent, stood a doll. Ugly looking, crude, red hair, so freaky.

"You get me out of here and I'll try man. But it'll be impossible. You don't just need to get out of here, you need to get through security too. Then I think you need a card for the lift."

"Don't worry about it." The doll said. "Just make sure you hang back when that door opens. Then come get me from the office. You got that?"

Jonathan looked at the doll, struggling to determine if this was real or not.

"I SAID DO YOU FUCKING GET THAT?" The doll shouted at him, scaring him half to death.

"Yeah... Yeah man I got it." Jonathan replied, shaking.

"Good. Just wait here."

With that the doll turned and left. Jonathan sat back down on his bunk, eyes opened wide before burying his head in his hands.

'What a fucking dumb ass.' Chucky thought as he made his way along the vent trying to remember which grill it was that opened into the office. It took a few minutes, but eventually he found it. The light filtering through tenfold compared to the others. He took a minute working out his next move. There was only one thing for it.

It had been a pretty uneventful night. It usually was up here. The stories of these maximum security hospitals and the exciting escapades of the inmates, completely fabricated. The security guard sat at the computer, the monitors showing camera feeds from all over the ward, bathing him in a majestic glow of light. He'd just finished his sixth cup of coffee in the space of two hours, he was feeling it tonight, fighting to stay awake. He doubted the myth that coffee actually helped keep you alert and awake because right now, despite the fact he'd sunk more than some do in a day, he could have crashed and burned right there at the desk. He stood, grabbing his empty mug and turned to the coffee jug, almost empty, when he heard a noise. Like a rattling, rasping noise, almost like something being run across an old washboard. He looked around the office, finding nothing at all amiss. Looking back at the monitors he could see his colleagues patrolling up and down. Nothing out of order there either. He poured his seventh cup of steaming hot coffee, the jug now empty. But there it was again. Where was it coming from? He moved to the back of the office, checking behind various equipment and storage boxes. Nothing at all wrong. So what was it? Then just as he was about to return to the desk it happened again. Right behind his head. He turned, but all he could figure was that something was trapped in the vent. Getting closer he stood on his tiptoes and leaned over, bringing his eye up, nearly touching the metal of the grill. Then BANG it hit him. He never saw it coming. Never felt a thing.

Chucky tried pulling the knife back, but it wouldn't come. He knew he'd gone in hard, but seriously? The blade of the knife seemed to be caught, maybe wedged between the bone of the eye socket. The security guard on the end of the knife was now limp, his mug of coffee shattered on the floor. But try as he might, the knife would not come out. This was bad, if one of the guards glanced over and saw this then it was game over. He let go of the knife and spat on his hands.

"Third time's a charm." He said to himself.

He wrapped his hands back around the handle of the knife and jerked it back furiously, wiggling it at the same time. Finally the blade came free and the guard dropped to the floor, lifeless. One swift kick to the wire grill and Chucky dropped down into the office. Approaching the computer, taking care not to be seen, he made sure to kill the cameras. Not just for here either, luckily he'd found the command to kill camera feeds all over the hospital, this really was the mother lode right here. Then the next step was to find the door release command. Running his hand over the keyboard he found the button titled 'Door Release' and pressed it. His eyes lit up and he couldn't believe his luck at what flashed on screen.

"-Release Single Door- / -Release All Doors-"

Giggling to himself before letting it develop into a full on laugh and throwing his malevolent little head back, he pressed the button for 'Release All Doors' and sat back to enjoy the show. Up and down the ward the locking mechanisms on all doors hissed and sprung into life as they slowly retreated from their chambers and allowed the doors to swing open. The guards suddenly noticed this and were caught completely unprepared. The patients, although confused, were quickly up and out of bed, staggering through their doors, unaware what exactly had happened, but needing no second invitation. They tore from their cells, attacking the guards, crowding each one, similar to a swarm of bees, kicking, punching, screaming in mass hysteria, leaving nothing to chance. Fire extinguishers were ripped from walls and used as weights, allowing the patients to dispense their own brand of 'corrective treatment'. One of the guards was engulfed by a conflagration of anger and hostility, seeing his life flash before his eyes as he felt fists laying into his kidneys, boots coming into contact with his legs, shattering his knee, before finally the brutal strength of one inmate resulted in the immense pain and bloodshed as the guard felt hell on earth. His lower jaw more or less ripped off in a fit of rage, before being flung like a rag doll through the glass of one of the many counseling rooms. The other two guards didn't fare any better. One had his skull caved in after repeated blows from the aforementioned fire extinguishers, his brain hanging precariously from the back of his head as he lay twitching on the floor, his life slowly leaving his body, soon to breathe his final breath. His colleague was held down, boots raining in on his face until he resembled nothing more than a bloody pulp. His arms and legs broken, bones sticking from the open wounds. The patients were ecstatic, feelings of euphoria sweeping over them as they left the bloody lifeless corpses of their captors. Taking night sticks, key cards whatever they could before heading for the only exit available. The elevators. Ralph, sat outside the security doors, heard the commotion and turned just in time to see the crowd, running as one, before smashing through the 'unbreakable' glass, the next innocent victim of the deranged mob, the lust for blood running high among the majority.

Chucky sat back and waited.

Sure enough, a lone man remained on the ward as he creeped from his cell. The room he had called home for the last three and a half years. Just as requested, Jonathan Locke didn't follow the crowd, instead taking a sharp left and heading down the hallway to the office. Chucky unlocked the door from the terminal and awaited his escort. He'd already made sure the lifts were locked to go no further than the first floor. If Locke was correct, then things were about to get a little crazy down there.

"Ready or not here we come, bitch!" Chucky whispered to himself, allowing a smile and a cackle of laughter.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

As Dr Abner ran through the torrential rain, suit jacket held over his head, he yanked open the door to his Mercedes and felt a sense of achievement wash over him that he hadn't felt in years. Not since his wedding day in fact. True he had been unfaithful many times over his long and generally boring marriage, but not once did he stop loving his wife, and he'd been immensely proud when she stood alongside him at the altar and said 'I do'. Now a new chapter was springing to life before his eyes, one that would see them happy and comfortable till the day they died. Nica Pirce was going to be his savior. She just didn't know it.

D-Wings first floor had seen a relatively uneventful evening unfold by the hour. Everybody back in their rooms, medication administered, nobody kicking up any fuss, a pretty steady handover to the nightshift really. There was the unusual appearance of Abigail Weston. Or 'Dr' Abigail Weston, as she was now known. Then there was the absence of Eric Grant. Grace reached inside her locker and lifted the bright yellow raincoat from the hanger, swinging the door of the locker closed as she pulled the protective garment clear. She swung her coat around her back and began to slide a long slender arm down the inside of the sleeve. The rain was banging against the glass, the wind howling through the gaps in the sealant. $40,000 the refurbishment had set the facility back and still they had bum windows. As she slid her other arm into the respectful sleeve, she pulled the raincoat up her back and flicked her silver hair over the collar, not lifting her hood up just yet. Suddenly she flinched in surprise as one of the younger staff nurses made her way into the changing rooms, throwing the door open clumsily, the accompanying 'BANG' echoing down the corridor. Dee had only been at Green Acre for three months, not qualified to go far, but a hard worker none-the-less. After falling pregnant while visiting her boyfriend in Chicago, it had been a lengthy and stressful procedure getting the green light to move from Canada. An 'anchor baby' their parents had joked. But they weren't worried about that. They were together now and she'd settled well, finding work almost immediately. Her first job? Green Acre's very own D-Wing, doing the rounds, mopping the floors, whatever needed doing really. A pleasant girl that Grace had immediately hit it off with, despite the fact she never had those damned headphones off. Even now as she shot through the door of the changing room, rushing to get out on time, Grace could hear Bonnie Tyler shrieking through the airwaves, 'Total Eclipse Of The Heart' reverberating around the changing room. Grace often wondered what that shit was going to do to Dee's ears as she got older.

"Honey," Grace turned to Dee and motioned with her hands, attempting to catch her attention. She failed. "DEE!" She shouted, causing Dee to jump and spin on the spot.

"Sorry," Dee apologised, lifting her headphones slightly, just enough to hear. "What's up?"

"Did you remember to empty those buckets out? I hate to ask as we're clocking off, but I didn't know Dr Weston was going to be in." She gave Dee a sympathetic look. "It's better to do it now and be five minutes late, than have Dr Abner giving you a warning tomorrow sweetie."

"Shit!" Dee spat. "I knew there was something. I'll do it on the way out."

"Probably for the best. She might not have noticed them yet. Just empty them down the drain and you should be good." Grace smiled, pulling her hood over her head and tossing her car keys in her hand. Dee closed her locker and slipped on a jacket of her own, lifting a motor cycle helmet from the seat beside her and removing the keys for her scooter.

"Can you believe I have to ride a scooter in this fucking weather?" She lifted her helmet as if making a point to Grace. "I swear I'm gonna kill Jake. Fucking asshole. He so loves that car more than me."

"Still a bit touchy about you driving his pride and joy huh?" Grace laughed as she held the changing room door open for Dee. Skipping through Dee turned to Grace.

"Yeah, not sure why. It's a damned Focus." She seemed annoyed, which always made Grace laugh. "I mean... It's not exactly a fucking Mustang!" Grace laughed as they started walking down the corridor, passing the nurses' station and gesturing 'goodnight' to the night shift. 'The Cavalry' Grace called them.

"Honey, I'll never understand men, and look how old I am." Grace turned to Dee and lifted her head, her weathered face appearing under the shadow cast by her yellow, rainproof hood. "You throw in cars then forget ever figuring them out."

"Yeah, you can say that again. Just pisses me off that I've got a fifteen mile ride in this. I'll be like a fucking drowned rat by the time I get home. And do you think he'll have run me a hot bath and made me something to eat?" They exchanged a quick glance towards one another before both laughing and saying at the same time. "Noooooooo..."

They had just about reached the end of the corridor when Dee remembered something.

"Fuck. Can you hold the elevator? I just need to sort those buckets out." She turned and sprinted back ten yards, dropping her helmet outside the door to the utility room before dashing inside. Grace shrugged her shoulders and lifted her key card, swiping it down the reader sitting beside the elevator door. Almost at once the doors slid open, which surprised Grace, but she was glad of that. The bad thing about an easy shift, is that they usually take a hell of a lot longer to pass. As she walked inside she noticed the buttons for each floor seemed to have taken on a slight change. Not a change as such, but the Ground and Basement levels were blanked out, which was a new one on Grace. Curiosity getting the better of her she reached out and pushed the button for the Ground floor. Nothing happened. She tried again, but the same. Trying the Basement gave the same response, nothing happened.

"Strange." She murmured to herself.

Suddenly the doors started to shut, causing Grace to look back at the floor buttons in shock. Something else out of the ordinary. She wasn't going down she was going up. But where to? Looking at the destination on the elevator readout presented more questions than it actually answered. Why was she going to the 'Max Security' level? And why could she hear such a commotion from above? Was that screaming? Grace didn't like this.

Dr Abigail Weston had decided to take advantage of the opportunity to wander around undisturbed. Sliding away from the nurses' station she had taken a walk round to her office and quietly let herself in. Even though she was technically covering for Eric Grant, she figured she could catch up on some of the work she'd fallen behind on this afternoon. After all, why should her schedule be messed up because of Eric Grant and Roland Abner? They could bitch about each other and go backwards and forwards as much as they wanted to, but it was her that was put out by all this shit. She closed her office door behind her and locked it, quietly striding across her tiled floor, heels clicking slightly as they made contact with the ceramic tiles. Sitting behind her desk, she flicked a switch and her computer screen flickered into life. She wanted to take a look at Nica Pirce's notes. Dr Abner had been showing a little more interest in her recently and Abigail Weston was not going to have her patient snatched from under her nose and paraded as a model example of Green Acre's sensational, revolutionary, new rehabilitation program. Not when she didn't feel Nica Pirce was safe. But also especially not after 'the incident' six months ago. She looked at her hand and although the puncture wound had long healed, a tiny scar remained. The very presence of it made Abigail recoil in pain as the memory burst through her brain like a juggernaught.

"It's gone straight through. Straight fucking through!" Warren had screamed, indicating that Dr Weston's hand was now more or less stapled to Nica's numb, lifeless thigh.

She could hear his voice now. The other orderly, only a temp, had been so traumatised by the event he never returned to Green Acre. She could also feel every tweak, every sharp jolt of agony as they tried to remove the hypodermic needle from her hand. But more than anything she remembered looking into Nica's eyes and seeing nothing. No compassion, no feeling, no life, she just stared deadly at Dr Weston, her curls hanging in front of her face, breathing heavily, her lips drooling. There was nobody in there and that was what had scared Dr Weston so much.

Remembering why she was sat in her office in the dark, the light of the computer monitor the only illumination available, she moved her mouse and entered the 'Patients' folder on the desktop. Strangely enough there was a patient missing. Nica Pirce. This didn't surprise her one bit though, she'd been suspecting something like this might happen, but that didn't mean she approved. Fair enough Dr Abner had shown a lot of interest in Nica's rehab, her case, even going as far as recommending her for transfer down here to D-Wing, claiming she was no longer a danger to anybody, including herself. But it was Abigail that had done all the work, put the hours into the therapy, worked her out a course of medication, monitored her behaviour, and she wasn't going to let Dr Abner snatch that away from her. She didn't particularly care for Nica, not since that day. But there was a reason Dr Abner wanted her on his list and it was bound to benefit him in some way. She pulled up the browser for the facilities intra-web and had a snoop around, coming across the login page for the 'Doctor/Patient' database held on the internal server. She used this daily as a way of updating her records whilst also catching up on previous meetings with colleagues etc. Feeling a little daring she clicked on the 'Doctor ID:_' field and entered the name 'Dr R Abner' before having second thoughts. Carefully thinking about any possible footprint she decided it was pretty safe and decided to have a stab at the password. But what could she use? Obviously he wouldn't just use his wife's name. But maybe, just maybe, she had an idea. Clicking on the 'Password:_' field she had a guess, entering the word 'YramRenba', or to put it another way, Mary Abner. Sure enough the next page fired into life. Browser histories, notes on patients, drugs, treatment schedules, meetings, everything Dr Abner had been working with recently. Following her instinct, Abigail clicked on the patient log and began searching, finding what she was looking for within seconds, Nica Pirce. So he had taken her off Abigail's patient list, but why? That was the question. Everything about the notes seemed in order, the treatment schedule hadn't altered, the notes remained attached to her file and there was a list of medication she had been prescribed since her admittance to the facility. But on closer inspection that was where something was off. There was a drug Abigail had never heard of, least of all recommended in Nica Pirce's ongoing treatment, 'Ethlandrone'.

"What the hell?" Abigail whispered to herself.

She'd been on this new drug for the last 4 months, way before being transferred from the Max Security unit, but it was the first Abigail had known about it. Clicking back and noting the name of this mysterious drug, Abigail pulled up the browser and turned straight to Google, doing a quick search for 'Ethlandrone'. The search engine returned immediately with hundreds of web pages, articles, images for the drug, but one caught Abigail's eye, sticking out amongst the text littered display of the monitor. She clicked on the link and was taken to the home page for a pharmaceutical company based in San Diego, apparently the creators of this unknown drug, Etho-Lab Pharmaceuticals. Reading the information on the home page, the drug promised to be a breakthrough in psychology, enabling doctors to see improvements within patients facing mental health issues in a quarter of the time it currently took. By the looks of the ingredient breakdown and the write up by the company, the drug blocked the release of endorphins, not just a little either, but to an almost undetectable level. Clicking away and taking in a tour of the page, reading as much as she could she came to a page featuring a brief history of the company and her blood ran cold. There on screen, listed as a company director was the name and image of none other than 'Dr. Roland Abner'.

"What are you up to you old prick?" She mused as she took in the information.

Apparently the new drug was still in the trial periods but was expected to be crowned a success soon with the first patient benefiting greatly from the current course of treatment. Who did they mean? Were they talking about Nica Pirce? She fit the bill perfectly. She came in confused, ranting about a killer doll, displaying psychotic, violent tendencies, no interest in socialising or acknowledging the problems were in her head. Then suddenly, as if overnight, the problems stopped, she became Roland's pet patient, his golden girl. His refusal to let her linger up in Maximum Security, that she be brought down to the first floor immediately as she was no longer a threat to anybody, evaluations getting less frequent every time. Everything started to make sense. Panicking, Abigail headed back to Dr Abner's patient log and pulled up the notes, wasting no time in finding Nica's. The text appeared on screen and confirmed Abigail's suspicions, making her sick to the pit of her stomach.

"Oh you're fucking kidding me!" She sighed as she closed her eyes in disbelief and fell backwards into the chair.

Dr Abner had decided that Nica would benefit from assisted living, albeit with supervision, at a complex in San Diego where she would be allowed days out, her own living space, financial support and all in the name of 'Ethlandrone'. He basically had to make sure she kept her nose clean and her ass wiped, and he stood to make a fortune out of marketing his new drug. No doubt he'd imagined the seminars, the guest speaking rolls, the after dinner speeches, the money... 'This' was indeed the reason he had been so determined to get her down here in the first place and why he was so concerned with making her comfort a priority. There was no doubt in Abigail's mind. Why else would he focus on her when the representative from the Board of Governors' visited? This made Abigail's skin crawl knowing that the whole time she'd been working with Nica, this was what had been planned behind her back. There was nothing new or revolutionary about doping somebody up and making sure they stayed put. It was just good old fashioned brainwashing. Slamming her hands on the desk she prevented a scream of rage from erupting from her lips. She was furious that Dr Abner was prepared to place a dangerous, possibly psychotic, patient out in the middle of a thriving community and sit back with his fingers crossed while his bank balance sky rocketed. She didn't know who'd seen these notes, but she was going to do something before it was too late.

Trouble was, who had seen these notes and how far away were they from reaching fruition?

She stood to leave the office when all of a sudden the first floor was plunged into darkness and screaming could be heard. As the red emergency lights began to flash, Dr Abigail Weston's world was plunged into chaos.

Nica had no sooner swallowed her medication and seen Grace leave, when she spun, turning her back on the door to her room, sticking two fingers down her throat. She tried to be quiet, but retching wasn't such an easy thing to do. Luckily she had gotten a little used to it this last couple of months and quickly brought up the oval, blue pills that Grace had brought her before turning in for the night. She was convinced these were the reason she had been floating on clouds up in Maximum Security, since she'd started bringing them back up she'd been fine. The rest of her medication was mostly stock, over the counter, placebos anyway. Asprin to help thin the blood a touch, harmless things like that really. She'd looked at the two little pills in a pool of spit, resting in the palm of her hand and quickly looked over her shoulder to make sure nobody had seen. Luckily she hadn't been getting these things as often recently, it was only every other night now, so they obviously thought they were doing the trick. But the way Nica saw it, there was nothing wrong with her anyway, Alice's letters proved that. So she just kept hiding them in her pillow slip before flushing them down the disabled toilet the morning after, letting everybody think these little blue pills were working a miracle. She didn't even know what they were, that hadn't been explained properly, she only knew that they took everything out of her. Her enthusiasm, her energy, her creativeness. As she'd slipped the pills inside her pillow, she'd noticed the letters from Alice, just visible, the dark brown envelope against the white bed sheets. Pulling them out she looked at them, turning them in her hands, not wanting to read them in case she felt that same terrifying, hair raising, cold feeling creep up her arms once more. Suddenly something clicked in her head, a spark, igniting memories of her time at Green Acre. The first time she'd encountered these mysterious blue pills. Dr Abner, he said something, what was it? Something about her recovery. A flash lit up her subconscious as Dr Abner's face appeared in front of her eyes, his office in the background as she signed a disclaimer for the medication she was to 'try'.

"You know these things will make it a lot easier for you in here don't you Nica?" He smiled as she took her first lot and signed the papers. "And we don't want 'anything' getting in the way of your recovery!" She didn't care what they were, all she knew is that they looked like a ticket out of this hell hole.

Suddenly she was back in her room. Her mind racing. What did that mean? 'Anything getting in the way of her recovery'? Then another memory came racing to her, just the other day as she was sat writing at her desk. Dr Abner appeared with his colleague, what was his name now? Something French, Gerard? Gerald? That was it! Gerald... No idea of the surname. But that wasn't important. The look Dr Abner gave her when she explained she was writing was though. He seemed alarmed. Her mind shot back to that morning.

"Oh really? What are you writing? I didn't know you were in contact with anybody." He'd seemed flustered as he asked. Then the way he wanted to get out of there at the first sign of even a hint of sarcasm. Something wasn't right.

Nica sat back and everything seemed to come together for her. It was Dr Abner! He'd been the one to hold back her mail. He didn't want anything disrupting her treatment, her drugs, he wanted her to play nice and not kick up a fuss. The only question was why? What did he have to gain? Why was he giving her this treatment? Coming across as her friend, her mentor, then stooping low enough to hold back any contact with the outside world and dope her up with trial drugs. As she sat, her mind wandering, miles away, she was brought back down to earth as the lights suddenly flickered before plunging her into darkness, her door sharply slamming shut and automatically locking. Just the intermittent flash of the red emergency light blinking through the small window in the upper reaches of her door.

Something was wrong. And Nica knew it.

Lynn, James and Paul had been going over the notes from the afternoon shift when it happened. Grace and Dee had literally just walked past on their way out and Dr Weston was nowhere to be seen. Mouthing her goodbyes to Grace on the way out Lynn turned to her two colleagues, clipboard in hands.

"So, where's Dr Weston?" She asked, half serious, half joking. Her hair tied back in a long black ponytail, her youngish looks betraying the years on the clock, all fifty-five of them.

"You really think she's gonna pull her weight?" James asked as he looked up from the medication charts, pulling another Snickers bar from the pocket of his scrubs. Lynn always figured he'd balloon in weight if he carried on eating the way he did. And she'd been right. The last two years hadn't been kind to James Rushmore. His acne had blossomed, pretty bad for a man approaching his mid-thirties and still living at home. "All meds are done, nothing special on here, should be an easy night anyway. Bit of luck she can sit in her office all night and keep to herself."

"Yeah," Lynn answered. "Chance would be nice. I don't think we'll have it that easy though."

"Where's Eric anyway?" Paul chipped in. He had the honour of being the youngest person to work at Green Acre. A generic nineteen year old, thought he knew it all. The jet black, gelled comb over reminding Lynn of an extra from the movie Grease. "Is it true about a suspension?"

"I dunno." Lynn sighed as she leaned back, perching herself on the edge of the nurses' station. "You hear one thing from this person, another from that person..."

"They don't tell us fuck all!" Paul spat.

"Nothing to do with us I guess." James finished his Snickers bar and threw the wrapper in the trash. Grabbing his coffee he took a long drink. "They just expect us to sweep the floors and stop the basket cases from killing each other."

"That's enough!" Lynn turned and shot him a look of disgust. "You treat these people with respect! You hear me?"

"Yeah, I guess." James muttered.

"I'm sorry?" Lynn took a step towards the man mountain, knowing full well that if he put his full weight behind any kind of attack then she could write off working again, ever.

"Okay..." James seemed embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"Right," Lynn started to walk off towards the elevators, turning to address them both. "Let's not argue guys. We have to work together, so let's just treat them with respect yeah?"

They both nodded as Lynn turned and carried on walking towards the elevator. Strangely enough there was a motorcycle helmet. Outside the utility room, on the floor. Confused, Lynn took a few steps towards the door, hoping to investigate the strange object. Her attention diverted, she was caught completely off guard as the elevator doors slid open, the accompanying 'ping' going unnoticed. She glanced up just in time to see the mass of orange jump suits, arms, legs and tattoos lurching forward in unison, anger spread across the faces of the crowd as they moved as one, their roars of anger and accompanying threats turning to an inaudible, muffled, wave of venom. James and Paul noticed what was happening way before Lynn did, screaming at her to get behind the nurses' station and to safety. She couldn't hear anything though. Her mind was awash with chaos and confusion as her body went numb and her limbs stiffened up. James was screaming, his lungs hoarse, getting rougher with every breath as she stood motionless, the crowd surging forward. But suddenly, almost immediately, it was too late. By the time she recognised the fact that she wasn't moving they were on her, clipboard dropping to the floor, the pen falling free and rattling. James and Paul watched on in horror as the mass of murderers and rapists enveloped Lynn, tackling her, barging her off her feet, her skull cracking on impact as she slammed into the floor, ribs splintering as foot after foot came down, trampling her underfoot, demolishing her body with every step, climbing over her to get to the nurses' station. Some stopped to spit on her, while others were more vicious, a huge kick here and there, no mercy as she recoiled, coughing up blood. Suddenly James brought his hand down on the panic button causing the glass screen to shoot up in front of the nurses' station, the lights cutting out and every door hissing and slamming shut as the locks whizzed into life and secured everybody in their rooms. The red flash of the emergency lighting gave the escaped inmates an even more intimidating look as they were bathed in the blood red glow. Screaming and shouting, punching, kicking, looking for anything to try and break the security glass protecting James and Paul from certain death. A fire extinguisher smashed against the glass screen, followed by the motorcycle helmet from down the hall, the inmates yelling for James and Paul to release them, show them the way out.

"We can't do that!" James screamed through the glass.

"CAN'T? OR WON'T?" Shouted one of the escapees, madness glistening from behind his eyes.

"We can't! We don't know how!" James yelled back.

"LET US IN!" Another face bellowed.

"No way! You'll fucking kill us!" Paul whimpered, his voice breaking.

"WE'LL GET IN EITHER WAY MAN!" The first voice shouted again.

A few members of the crowd dispersed, desperately looking for another way out, the control for the locks to the stairways and the fuse box for the elevator override. Some came back with things to throw at the glass trying in vain to break into the nurses' station and get their hands on the two men inside. James and Paul were taken completely by surprise as the crowd parted and a handful of the mob appeared carrying Lynn's body. Lifeless, broken, blood, dripping from the end of each outstretched arm, her head flopping, a bloody pulp. As the crowd closed up behind them, the men hoisted Lynn's body up in one swift manoeuvre, instantly it dawned on James and Paul what they were about to do.

"Holy fuck no!" Paul gasped as the men took a step backwards.

"Please god!" James exhaled as the handful of men then took an almighty step forward, heaving Lynn's already shattered body at the glass. The implosion of sharp, jagged glass was enough to make James and Paul shield their eyes and sink to their knees as Lynn's torso came crashing through, landing on the floor behind the desk of the nurse's station. James took a quick look at the situation and felt a fear he had never experienced before. Looking at the limp, breathless body of his former colleague, skin torn off by the glass, bones broken, jutting out from various areas, blood running free from her cracked skull and forming a pool around her head, he vomited. Paul saw the devastation too and tears formed in his eyes as he looked up at the inmates pouring in through the glass, psychotic, menacing looks in their eyes as they approached, crowding the two men. He clamped his hands together as if uttering a final prayer on his death bed and began to plead for their lives. As expected his attempts at bargaining were futile, punches thrown, boots landing on whichever body parts were exposed. The fury, built up over years of incarceration finally finding a vent through which it could be unleashed.

It only took two minutes. Both men laid, twitching, struggling to breathe. Paul's lungs, which had collapsed under such an intense beating were, losing the fight to keep him alive, while James slowly drown on his own blood, unable to move, every limb flaring in agonising pain. The crowd soon moved on, as one of the smarter inmates searched the security terminal, unlocking the elevators and stairwells. Onwards to freedom.

When the storm of violence and expletives had finally died down, Dee slowly and as quietly as possible, opened the door of the utility room. Only slightly at first. Making sure the crowd had definitely vanished. As she stood, trembling, she took a small step out into the corridor and was greeted by a sight which made her vomit as she involuntarily fell to her knees, raising her hands to her face, tears streaming down her cheeks, matting her red hair into thick strands. The floor of D-Wing was stained with the blood of the night staff, the glass security screen, meant purely for emergencies had failed in its task of keeping the workers safe. As she approached the nurses' station she cried out loud, whimpering and shaking as the battered bodies of Lynn, James and Paul came into view. She reached over the desk and grabbed the phone. There was no outside line, it was as if the lines had been disconnected. Worse than that, there was only this floor and Maximum Security that worked the night shift. Panicking and acting on adrenaline, Dee did all she could think of and turned, sprinting towards the elevator at the end of the corridor, concerned only for her safety. She had just reached it, tears blurring her vision, senses working overtime, when the doors slid open, that 'ping' again sounding out. There stood a man. Orange jumpsuit, shoulder length, shaggy black hair. A drawn and tired expression across his face as he acknowledged Dee. In his hands, bizarrely enough, sat a doll. Dee could tell, even through the tears, it was the most evil looking doll she'd ever seen. All stitches and ginger hair, the overalls torn and shredded in places. Blues, reds and greens, weathered from years of misuse. Even stranger, in the hands of the doll, was a knife. Before Dee could stop she was upon them, fear and terror telling her this was the end. Then as if in slow motion, the doll moved, turning it's head and smiling menacingly straight at her, it's hand plunging forward, the knife sinking into Dee's chest and sitting there as she .an abrupt stop. The pain was excruciating, like nothing she'd ever felt before. Then as the doll looked up, into her face, their eyes met. Smiling even wider the doll pulled its other hand free from round the back of the escapee carrying it and grabbed the knife with both hands, yanking sharply, violently downwards and gutting Dee, opening her up from the middle of her chest to the bottom of her stomach, before laughing maniacally. Dee went cold as she collapsed backwards hitting the floor with all her weight, her world starting to fade in a mixture of terror, confusion and agony.

Dr Abigail Weston had stood for what seemed an age, watching shadow after shadow fly past the window of her office door. Luckily they didn't pay much attention as there was no light on inside, but a couple had tried the door handle as she then sat weeping, crouched under her desk. She'd heard the screams, heard the cries of pain and anguish coming from the hall and she'd known what was happening the second the emergency measures had been activated. The lights lost power, patients were locked automatically in their rooms, either to keep them safe or keep them in. She also knew that the stairs would be locked off until somebody either reset the alarm from the terminal inside the secure confines of the nurses' station, or security showed up. The police were probably on their way too. A ten mile gap between the local police department and Green Acre wasn't ideal, but they'd done well during the drills Dr Weston had witnessed. Her mind hurriedly returned to the present and she began to wonder why it had all quietened down so quickly. No more screaming, no more roars of anarchy. Just silence. Apart from a couple of minutes ago when she'd heard somebody crying, cowering almost. Now there was just an eerie, dramatic, silence in which Abigail felt she would hear a pin drop from the other side of the ward. Climbing to her feet, her once carefully manipulated blonde hair had worked free from the slides used to keep it in place. She carefully took a step forward, before bending and removing her heels from her feet. Leaving them behind her desk she skipped towards her door, not a sound to be heard from the hall. Putting one hand on the door handle she used her free hand to unlock the door, very slowly. As she carefully pulled the door open she took one last look around her office, checking for some innocent peripheral that could be used as a makeshift weapon. There was nothing. Turning back to the now gaping doorway, she jumped and gave a shriek as she was greeted by the tall, unkempt figure of inmate 18910407... Jonathan Locke. His eyes stared straight through her, sunken, black and unfocused. His jumpsuit had splatters of blood down the front and his hands hung free by his side, his pale skin lending him a disturbing, unfriendly look. She was just about to ask him if he was alright, attempt to keep him calm, this was a man that had murdered a bus full of commuters in cold blood after all. No warning, no ransom, just a mass execution. The words were on the tip of her tongue when he gasped, quite audibly, a long lingering exhalation. Before falling forward, landing face first with a splat at the bare feet of Dr Weston. She looked at him, not moving, completely still and noticed the handle of the knife protruding from his spine, a ring of blood around the base. Then she noticed something else.

Something impossible...

Something she couldn't believe...

She held her hands to her mouth, about to scream, when the abomination, spoke...

"Where the fuck is Nica Pirce?"

Then she screamed...

Sat back in her room, Nica was shaken out of her thoughts by a solitary scream that bounced around the corridors of D-Wing, filtering through every gap, every doorway and every window.

He was here...


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Dr Abner was jerked violently from the pages of his novel as the high pitched ringing of his phone echoed up the stairs and along the hallway of his 19th century countryside abode. The absence of neighbours and other distractions were, ironically, one of the standout features during his and Mary's discussion over which property to purchase twenty-two years previous. But here he was, summoned from his bed, and at an ungodly hour. He picked the bookmark from the bedside table and dropped it between the pages, slowly clamping the book shut and turned to face his wife. Mary was, as always, fast asleep and snoring her heart out. He'd come to figure over the years that there were only a handful of things that could wake his wife, one being the smell of coffee and a lightly buttered croissant. Throwing his book onto the bed next to his wife, he lifted the covers and swung his long, frail legs over the side, before slipping his feet into his slippers, perfectly positioned at the side of the bed. As he stood, he placed the palms of his hands on his knees and sighed. Old age wasn't just creeping up on him, it was hurtling towards him at a frantic pace. He took a few steps over to the chair in the corner of the room and lifted his dressing gown from the back rest, swinging it over his shoulders in one swift movement. As he tied the belt of the dressing gown he found himself wondering why it was they didn't have a phone right here in the bedroom, then he remembered. Mary. She'd been dead against the idea, arguing that their marital room was the only place she felt they could truly escape to with no interruptions from the outside world, including Roland's job. Opening the door and stepping through, into the hallway outside, he turned to see Mary gently stirring and counted his lucky stars she had not woken up, questions following. He quietly closed the door to the bedroom and proceeded to walk down the upstairs hallway, glancing out of the window at the storm in full swing. Flashes of lightning, the rumble of thunder, the heavy drops of rain being smashed against the windows in the ensuing gale outside just added to the sense of emergency brought eerily to life by the ringing of the phone. It also added a strange sensation of comfort as he walked down the stairs and into the open hall of his vast house, the warmth of the heating system making the interior of the house and the storm outside seem worlds apart. He reached the floor of the hall, the bare, rustic brick walls and oak floor bringing out the best of the artwork and various animal heads adorning the walls and trotted over to the phone, grabbing it from its wall mounted base and snapping it to his ear.

"Hello?" He queried, the business of an office in the background was instantly recognisable.

"Dr Abner?" The mysterious voice said. Female, probably late twenties, he Dr Abner thought, building a mental image in his head immediately.

"Yes?" He replied.

"Dr Roland Abner? Of Green Acre Mental Facility?" The female voice asked again.

"Yes?!" He once again responded, he was in no mood for games. Looking at the clock he noticed the time, 10:30pm. Not exactly witching hour, but after the day he'd had he was in no mood to be entertaining cold callers.

"This is Highgate Police Dispatch sir." The voice took on a much quicker pace, suddenly becoming much more professional. "We have a report of an alarm activated up at the Green Acre Facility, the notes have been altered recently and request us to contact you in any such event sir. Is that correct?"

"Yes, it is indeed. I assume you want the password?" Dr Abner's voice became much sterner as he quietly spoke, trying his best to keep his voice from reaching upstairs.

"Please sir..." The female dispatch came back, instantly.

"Very well, the password is 'Ethlandrone Model One'." He calmly stated, listening as the sound of typing echoed down the phone line. Finally the voice spoke again.

"That's confirmed sir. What action would you like us to take at this time?" She asked again.

"Action?" Dr Abner seemed shocked.

"Yes sir, what action? Would you like a patrol car to check in with security, help make a sweep of the facility? Our systems are showing no incoming security footage." She asked again.

"That won't be necessary officer." His voice turned a little sour, "I seem to remember maintenance saying we've been having problems with the system. Rest assured I'll be straight onto it in the morning."

"Very good sir." She shot back, typing as she spoke. "I'll make a note of this in the log. We'll need you to check in with us in approximately one hour just to follow protocol. Failure to comply will result in a unit being dispatched to the address. Be sure to get that system checked by one of your engineers."

"Yes, yes I will." He lied.

There was no problem with the security system. Green Acre had one of the best systems money could buy. The dispatch officer was just about to release the call when Dr Abner spoke again.

"Oh, officer?" He asked.

"Yes?" She replied.

"I don't suppose there's any way of telling which area, maybe even which wing or floor the alarm was triggered on is there?" The line fell quiet, the ambient noise of the dispatch office filtering through the ear piece. Finally she came back, her voice hurried and blunt.

"First Floor sir. D-Wing."

"I see. Thank you." His voice trailed off and his expression dropped, his long trembling arm attempting to place the phone back in its base. As he finally managed what should have been the easiest of tasks, he fell against the wall, his outstretched arm the only thing stopping him from falling flat on his face. Pulling himself together and standing straight he raced for the front door, not giving a second thought to the weather bellowing outside. Grabbing his car keys from the table of the entry he raced out, the door slamming behind him as the wind took it. The rain lashed down, stinging his face, the belt from his dressing gown whipping across his waist and flapping behind him as he flicked the switch on the fob and opened the door of his Mercedes. As he jumped in, he pulled the door shut, struggling against the strength of the wind, and inserted his keys into the ignition twisting as the engine fired into life. His mind was set on one thing and one thing only. Getting to Green Acre.

This had something to do with Nica Pirce.

He was sure of it.

As Nica sat, secured in her room, the intermittent flash of the emergency lights illuminating her living space, she tried to formulate some kind of plan. Could this really be the work of one man? The hordes of voices, the vitriolic cries of angst heard out in the corridor not too long ago were unlike anything she'd ever heard at Green Acre. The scream bouncing off the walls just a moment ago had left her shaken, the hairs on the back of her neck lifting as her spine shivered with terror. It had reminded her of her mother. That night, as Sarah's lungs burst forward with a blood curdling shriek, Nica had been awoken, the shock knocking her sideways as she eventually discovered the lifeless body in the hallway. Looking back Nica had often wondered how it had been so easily ruled as suicide. In hindsight it was the most blatant murder you could think of, the huge shears plunged deep into Sarah's chest, chances of survival practically zero. So Nica knew the shock and fear projected in that scream she'd heard minutes ago and she knew it well. It was ungodly, and sounded like the release of a thousand festering souls. As she looked around her room, eyes fighting against the dark-light-dark combination of the emergency lights, she tried to find something, anything at hand, that she could defend herself with. There was nothing.

"Shit!" She moaned, guessing that this was one of the cons of a mental asylum. No sharp instruments!

Suddenly she was shaken from her thoughts, the lock to the door whirring slowly open, retreating from the chamber in one long lingering movement before fully releasing and allowing the door to gently rock open. Dumbstruck and frightened, Nica wheeled back, unaware she was backing herself into a corner, her mind racing, not knowing what to expect. Then a shadow appeared. Very slowly the shadow spread across the doorway and filtered in, growing in height as it reached the far wall and started rising, almost touching the ceiling. As the flashing red gave the mysterious shadow a sharper outline, Nica found herself recognising the shadow as female. She could tell by the hair, but what the hell was on its shoulder? As Nica examined the shadow on the wall her eyes caught the solid shape of her guest stood in the door way. She snapped her head to her right, in a state of shock Nica couldn't believe what she was witnessing.

"Dr Weston?" She exclaimed.

But it wasn't just Dr Weston. She noticed this as Dr Weston took a long step, fully through the door.

"You!?" Nica spat. Chucky in full view hanging over Dr Weston's shoulder, knife held to the poor woman's throat, evil smile spread across his ugly little face.

"Hello Nica." He calmly replied, hardly audible over the whimpering from Dr Weston.

"My god..." Dr Weston cried, her hands covering her mouth. "I'm so sorry Nica, I'm so sorry..." She began to break down, the tears flowing as she realised the situation unfolding before her very eyes.

"It's okay." Nica gestured holding her hands up. She turned to Chucky, hatred ejecting from her eyes. "I wouldn't have had you down as a hostage taker!"

"Think of me as a... 'no holds barred' kinda guy." He laughed throwing his head back, the knife still held firm against the soft skin of Dr Weston's neck.

"I prefer to think of you as cowardly sack of shit!" Nica shot straight back.

Chucky stopped laughing, lowering his gaze to Nica as his face took on a serious expression.

"Really?" He said, no emotion, just hollow. "Let's see what you think of this then!"

With neither warning nor mercy, Chucky suddenly ran the blade of the knife across Dr Weston's throat, the cut deep enough to expose the muscle and veins underneath. As the blood started flowing, a maroon waterfall, Dr Weston realised what was happening and tried to scream, but nothing came. Nica was also taken aback by cold, sudden brutality of Chucky's actions, hands flinching to her face in shock as she closed her eyes, unable to watch. Chucky though took great pleasure in demonstrating to Nica what he was capable of, just as he did six short months ago. His face took on a grin, filled with evil and enjoyment as he slowly finished pulling the knife across Dr Weston's neck, relinquishing his grip from around her shoulders and jumping free, landing on his feet. Just in time too, Dr Weston collapsing to her knees and placing her hands around her neck, as if trying to stem the flow of blood. It was a fight she would eventually lose. As Nica looked Dr Weston in the eyes, she held her hand out and began to weep, nobody deserved this. Her arm outstretched Dr Weston tried in vain to reach out to Nica, her eyes dilated as her mouth moved, trying to speak. Nica could just make out the same word over and over.

'Sorry.'

Caught up in the moment, Nica didn't notice Chucky stride up to the back of Dr Weston. Without an ounce of remorse, he lifted his right foot and brutally kicked her in the back, watching her fall face first with a sickening crunch, blood starting to pool around the poor woman's now lifeless body. Quickly moving, Chucky stood on the doctor's back and stared straight at Nica, right arm in the air, knife clenched tightly, suddenly he sunk to one knee and began frantically bringing the knife down, stabbing Dr Weston time and again. She tried to move, but found she had no strength whatsoever, as she lay on the floor of Nica's room she stared at the wall, feeling every jab, every puncture the knife bestowed upon her. She was sure that her lungs had already been punctured by the long blade. It was now just a matter of time before she died, either from the drowning, if she lived long enough, or the inevitable blood loss from her now gaping neck. As Chucky withdrew the knife, over and over again, splashes of blood would fly up hitting him in the face, all the while he laughed as though this was the funniest thing he'd ever had the privilege of witnessing.

"Stop!" Nica screamed at him. "She's dead! Just leave her you sick fuck!"

As Chucky pulled the knife free one last time he slowly wiped it across the front of his overalls, the 'Good Guy' logo now barely readable under the claret stain. He held the knife in front of his face and stared at his reflection, amazed at how much blood had struck him.

"You know Nica," He said as he stared even harder at himself in the blade. "I've not had this much fun in a long time!" He stepped down from the back of Dr Weston, one final breath leaving her body. Chucky turned to look at her, then back to Nica. "A very long time in fact. Not since, let me see." He brought his hand up and stroked his chin as he looked to the ceiling. "Not since that time I killed your slut mother and your sister!"

"Don't you fucking dare talk about my mother like that!" Nica whispered. Chucky laughed as he heard the venom seeping through Nica's tone.

"She was a fucking slut and you know it!" He scolded Nica. "If it weren't for her then..."

"Then what?" Nica interrupted. "You wouldn't be a fucking plastic freak? A fucked up midget?"

"Not how I'd have put it." He replied. "But now you mention it..."

"My mother would never have touched you." Nica was getting mad. Her nerves were disappearing under an avalanche of anger and Chucky could sense this. He knew what a fighter Nica was and he was determined.

"You know what? I'm not gonna let you do this, not this time!" His voice carried intensity as he spoke, making the atmosphere crackle. "You're mine now Nica. All mine."

"Let's go then short round!" Nica grabbed her wheels and turned slightly to face Chucky head on. Chucky looked to the knife, then back to Nica and smirked, assuming his job was almost done. Then suddenly, without warning he charged at her, screaming, running straight past the body of Dr Weston and jumping straight at Nica. Prepared for this Nica held her wheels firm and leaned backwards, causing her wheelchair to tilt back. As Chucky made contact with her he was taken by surprise, the knife he'd brought slashing across where her neck was now made contact with nothing but thin air. Landing on her chest, his weight and momentum sent them both crashing to the floor, the knife landing on the floor with a clatter and disappearing under Nica's desk. Chucky sat up, confused at what had just happened and looked around quickly to get his bearings. Nica also up quickly, knew that she now had the element of surprise in her favour. But not for long. As soon as she sat up Chucky was on top of her, pinning her to the floor and grabbing her hair, smashing her head into the hard floor. Nica tried to land a punch on him but she wasn't able to connect, in the end deciding simply to try and put her arm up and hold him off, get rid of his advantage. Infuriated at this, Chucky saw the bare naked flesh of her forearm and did what came naturally, sinking his teeth down and clamping onto Nica's wrist, screaming in a fit of rage. Nica screamed too, in agony as the teeth sunk deep, drawing blood. Getting her head together, Nica brought her other arm round in a wide, circular motion and caught Chucky round the head with a sickening 'smack', sending him flying under her bed. It was suddenly quiet, no noise, no threats, no expletive laden insults from the foul mouthed little demon. Sitting up and taking a breather Nica grabbed her wrist and looked at it, the tiny teeth marks buried under a steady stream of blood, bruising already beginning to show. She turned her attention back to the bed and slowly crawled towards it, the sheets of the bed hanging down obstructing her vision of what could possibly be waiting for her underneath. Summoning all her courage and preparing herself for round two she flicked back the sheets waiting for Chucky to leap at her. But he wasn't there... Nica was confused, where had he gone? Then she found out. She found out because he suddenly landed on her back, screaming, calling her all the names he could think of. Bitch, whore, slut, junkie, cripple, you name it, he was exploding with anger at Nica as he wrapped his tiny arms around her neck trying to strangle the life from her. Nica took a deep breath and threw herself backwards towards the bed, slamming up against the sturdy, metal frame, sandwiching Chucky between. He screamed in pain as he was crushed between Nica and the bed, but still held on. Nica leaned forward and tried again, throwing herself backwards with even more force, then again, and again. Eventually Chucky's grip started to loosen as he started to feel the effects of the beating Nica had delivered to him. As they both lay there, Nica struggling to get her breath back and sit up, Chucky feeling like he'd literally had the stuffing knocked out of him, there was a moment of calm. But not for long, Chucky was up again, jumping on Nica's chest and raining punches on her, harder and harder with every swing. She held her hands up, shielding her face, but felt him start to connect with her body, her chest taking the full force of his constant pummelling. Nica wasn't sure if she was imagining it, but he seemed to have the strength of a full grown man, every punch carrying the weight of an anvil. She lay there, arms crossed over her face and suddenly found the strength to sit up, catching him between punches, completely unawares as she shot forward, her forehead connecting with his nose, a sickening crunch sounding out around the room as Chucky fell backwards. Wasting no time, Nica grabbed his leg and lifted his limp body, bringing it crashing down on the floor, not once, not twice, but three times before throwing him with at the wall above her desk, where he impacted with a 'thud' before dropping dazed on to the desk. As he sat up and shook his head, he saw no sign of Nica. Her wheelchair was still there, on its side, but Nica was nowhere to be seen. He had just about shaken away the cobwebs when Nica's hand grabbed the edge of the desk followed by Nica herself, as she came rising out of nowhere. Chucky's knife held aloft in her other hand, Nica brought it swooping down, so fast Chucky heard it cutting through the air, before finally landing in his leg and crashing straight through the desk, pinning him to the furniture.

"God damn!" Chucky cried in anger as he grabbed the handle of the knife with both hands and tried desperately to yank it free from the wooden desk.

Nica, sensing now was the time to move, turned towards her wheel chair and reached it in record time, crawling as fast as she could manage before tipping it the right way up and lifting herself up and into the seat. She wheeled as fast as possible to the door, turning to take one last look at Chucky, stuck solid to the desk. Chucky let go of the knife and turned to face her, completely furious.

"You fucking bitch!" He yelled at her.

Nica gave a smirk as she looked him in the eye and simply extended her battered, bruised and bitten arm, raising her middle finger in a 'fuck you' gesture. Chucky once again grabbed the knife handle and started screaming as he yanked and wiggled it trying to free himself. Not wanting to give him any chances, Nica then wheeled herself out into the corridor and towards the elevator. She could have thrown up as she passed the nurses' station, the long dead bodies of Lynn, James and Paul behind the desk, glass shattered all over, blood coating the floors and the walls of D-Wing. As she reached the elevator she couldn't help but see Dee, a huge gash running from her chest to her stomach, organs slightly exposed beneath the wound, a look of sheer terror on her face. Quickly Nica reached down and grabbed Dee's key card, swiping it down the electronic reader. She was in luck as the lift doors opened, unbeknown to her the work of the Maximum Security prisoner that deactivated the security measures from the terminal behind the nurses' station. As she wheeled in and spun on the spot the lift doors automatically closed, a single high pitched scream heard from the other end of the corridor as she saw Chucky's bright red hair and crudely stitched face emerge slowly from her room. Nica didn't notice at first, but she wasn't heading down. Instead the lift was heading up, destination Maximum Security. It was there within seconds, the doors sliding open as they did every day, as though nothing was wrong. It was the same up here. The floors and walls bathed in a sea of intermittent red, emergency light. Nica noticed the body of Grace slumped forwards over a chair, her clothes removed, her body battered, bruised and bleeding. The patients had shown no mercy, just like down stairs. The security guard lying on the floor next to Grace was also covered in dried blood, glass jutting from his face, misshapen after the heavy beating his former patients had felt it an honour to administer. His cheekbones were broken and an eye had been gouged out. Nica felt sick as she looked on at the scenes of devastation surrounding her. She fought back tears and pressed the button for the basement, the only place she knew besides the first floor. As the lift started moving down she felt a little easier, but was again shaken as a new light lit up on the console.

First floor.

He was waiting.

Taking three long, tired steps up to his front porch, David yawned as he approached his front door. Lifting his knee, carefully supporting the large package he was carrying, he started rummaging in the pocket of his leather jacket. Eventually finding what he was looking for, he slid the key into the lock, twisting anti clockwise and hearing the click of the lock snapping back. As the door swung open he stepped inside, kicking the door close with his heel, once again taking the large package in both hands before walking through to the kitchen and placing it on the small table. As a force of habit he walked over to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer, snapping the can open, the hiss as the pressure escaped from the can, satisfying to his ears. As he took a drink he looked out of the kitchen window, noticing how cloudy the dark night sky had become on the course of his walk home from Bob's. Not a friend, more an acquaintance, he'd come to know Bob quite well over this last year, frequenting his auto-parts store regularly, whenever his bank balance allowed it, and ordering various parts as and when needed. But boy could the old man talk. He hadn't known David from Adam when he first wandered in off the street a year ago. Hell, he'd only gone in for a fly wheel, next thing he knew he'd been stood at the counter for over an hour as Bob ran him through the events of his life to date. How he'd married his high school sweetheart at the young age of 19 back in 1951, started the store using money his father left him back in '58, then there was his military service in Vietnam for which he was still bitter, constantly referring to the Vietnamese as "those slinty eyed sons of bitches", how he and his wife were unfortunate in never being able to have children of their own all on account of his wife, Molly, being "barren". The only thing was that now every time David called in, Bob recognised him and kept him talking even longer, which he wouldn't have minded so much if it weren't for the smell. David wasn't keen on the smoke filled, nicotine stained atmosphere of Bob's shop. He hated the smell, the feeling of breathing in other peoples second hand smoke. Smoking was probably his biggest pet hate, so foul and the way it hung around on your clothes afterwards was disgusting. It didn't help that this was the only auto parts store in this small mountain town. Population of 3,289 people and not one had apparently thought of giving dear old Bob a bit of stiff competition. As he stood gently sipping his beer, David was startled by a flash of lightning the rumble of thunder soon following, a vibration passing through the small, rented house. David hated this kind of weather. He was a summer man, no doubt about it. The early morning sun, the long days and the warm relaxing nights were just what he looked forward to every year. Looking at the clock he couldn't believe the time, nearly 10pm. He'd meant to be back ages ago and get started, but then Bob started going on about a Chevy his friend was selling and wouldn't let up. David actually felt offended telling the old man he wasn't interested but he just wasn't really a car kind of guy. Letting his eyes wander back to the clock, he reckoned that he really should look at getting some sleep, before the inevitable phone call from Gregg at whatever time asking David to cover for him yet again. But the truth was David wasn't in any mood for getting to bed. His parts had arrived at Bob's and were now sitting safely on his kitchen table, the final piece of the puzzle, and he was itching to get into the garage and get to work. He was buzzing so much that he decided sleep could take a back seat this time. He'd work through the night if he had to, then soldier on up at Green Acre regardless of how tired he was. As he continued looking out of the window it began to rain. A light shower quickly turning to a heavy downpour, the rain bouncing off the tarmac along the road, puddles forming quickly, streams of water starting to sweep along the side of the road, the current picking up whatever lay in its path whether it be leaves, flyers from the towns various businesses or even full branches as the wind turned into a gale, bending them back until they snapped clean off, falling from the trees that lined the street from one end to the other, carried away under a torrent of rainwater and towards the storm drains. Turning away from the darkness spreading outside the window David walked over to the table and picked up the package, balancing it again on his knee as he twisted the handle of the garage door, stepping through and turning on the light. Sure it was raining, but boy was it humid. The heat and moisture in the air made it a job just to breathe. As he set the package down on the garage floor, David glanced into the corner and at the sheets covering his pride and joy. There she was, all ready for the final parts before she was road worthy. If all went to plan that could well be tonight, if the rain died down anyway. Turning his attention back to the stifling atmosphere of the garage, David stood and made for the huge metal door, twisting the handle and lifting as it flipped up on its hinges and came to a stop, nestled safely over head, in line with the garage ceiling. The wind was blowing outside, but thankfully the house stood proud of the garage door and prevented the blustery conditions from swarming inside. David noticed the rain had started to get even heavier, another flash of lightning, forking, arcing across the grey, miserable sky. The rainwater was pouring down the slight incline and towards the garage, gathering pace with every drop, but luckily heading straight into the grated drain at David's feet. Turning on the spot, David strode back over to the sheets, the angles and points underneath the thick, dusty bedding obscured from view. Then grabbing the sheets with both hands, he swiftly and suddenly yanked them across his chest, the sheets tearing away and exposing the gleaming metal of a Norton Commando motorcycle. Picked up in a scrap yard for a bargain $500, this bike had been David's life for the last 18 months. Now he was finally going to finish the refurbishment he had started so long ago. The twin exhausts finally ready for fitting to the manifold of the engine. As he stood and looked at it, he thought back to how he came to own this wonderful piece of British engineering. His parents had agreed to a loan of $2,000 so he could buy himself a car. Nothing too fancy, just something to get from A to B when he needed it. He'd been honest and told his parents he didn't have any interest in a car, but their faces dropped and panic and confusion took over as they desperately tried to talk him out of getting a motorcycle. In the end he'd agreed and assured them both that he would buy a car. He didn't, obviously, but he occasionally sent them a picture of himself stood next to the neighbour's blue Hyundai. That seemed to keep them quiet. All he had to do now was spin them a tale about 'his' car been stolen and announce once and for all that he'd bought a motorcycle. At the time he'd thought it a smart move, paying £500 for the bike and having $1,500 left over with which to refurbish it. The only problem was that the bike was in a much poorer state than he'd first thought. The paint had been chipped, partly stripped away through years of abuse, the engine was shot, the pistons worn and oil heavily leaking from the sump, the wheels weren't concentric, more or less oval and the brakes... Well there weren't any to be honest. He'd had to spend the best part of $700 buying a reconditioned engine and having the cylinders bored out. After he'd stripped the bike back to its metal and resprayed it a beautiful charcoal black he'd been more or less out of money. He'd had just enough left to have the original Norton logo and corresponding gold trim added to the petrol tank and various other parts, but that was it. The rest would have to be done as and when. But now he'd finally made it. With a new engine, bored cylinders, reseated pistons, new suspension for both ends and double disc hub and floating brake disc setup just a handful of the many parts he'd sourced over time, he was finally ready to finish the job. One thing that had gone for good was the original starter switch. There was next to no power in the thing and David had always been a traditionalist, preferring to use the kickstart. As he dropped to his knees, taking another drink from the beer can, he ran his hands over the splendid finish, shining proudly in the ultraviolet light of the garage.

"Finally here old girl." He whispered as he patted the seat, turning to grab the package beside him, starting to unwrap the brown wax paper. The exhausts had been a while in coming, imported from England, just down the road from where the famous Norton factory once stood. As he carefully peeled back the paper he was amazed at the chrome finish, so beautiful. He reached over to the side of the bike and grabbed his trusty box of tools, reaching inside for his ratchet and socket set. Then, carefully lining the gasket up between the manifold and the exhaust joint he dipped his finger in a little motor oil and ran it around the seal. Next he held the exhaust in place and threaded the bolt through, twisting by hand at first before reaching for the next bolt and doing the same again. Once they were nipped up, hand tight, David reached and picked up his ratchet, giving both bolts an equal amount of force as he tightened them. Once that was done he picked a nut and bolt from the packaging and quickly fastened the long section of exhaust pipe to the underside of the bikes frame, the exhaust now secure and sturdy.

"That's one." David said as he stood, taking the remaining exhaust and subsequent fittings with him. He reached the other side of the motorcycle in a matter of seconds as he once again sunk to his knees and went to work, repeating the procedure and fitting the second exhaust pipe. In no time at all the job was finished and David stood, taking a step back, allowing the beauty, the fruition of his months of hard work, sink in. It was stunning. He was impressed with the new parts. The exhaust pipes only narrow as they bent downwards from the manifold before curling back under themselves and widening out towards the end then suddenly tapering to an almost closed position. David set his beer can, now more or less empty, down on the floor and had a quick think trying to remember anything he may have forgotten before he plucked up the courage to insert the key and give the kickstart some action. He couldn't think of anything so he turned the key and lifted his leg, striding over the huge bulking frame of the bike, coming to a standing finish with one leg either side, hands on the handle bars. Pulling in the clutch and making sure it was in neutral he lifted his right leg and placed it on the kickstart, jumping in the air and forcing his foot down with enough weight and power he thought he'd break the thing. He needn't have worried though, the Norton firing straight up, the huge 850cc engine growling into life, a phoenix rising from the ashes. The two cylinders of the air cooled, parallel twin engine burst into action, a new lease of life given to the wonderful machine as David squeezed back on the throttle and gave it some revs, all while keeping an eye on the thermostat, which had started to heat up as expected. As the bike roared, triumphantly, the emissions flowed from the exhausts, acrid, but that was to be expected, the bike had been stood a long time, the exhausts were new and still had a slight coat of oil that would no doubt burn off over time. Looking out of his garage door and into the now pitch black night David considered taking it out for a run right there and then, but thought better of it. The rain was still belting down and the wind looked to have picked up even more as an umbrella, obviously ripped from some poor persons hand, came skimming across the road before being lifted up into the night sky. He was just about to kill the engine, pleased with what he'd heard and seen when he decided to roll the bike forward, just to check the brakes. Using his strength to pull the bike so it stood up straight, he took the weight off the stand before using the heel of his left foot to kick it up and under the frame of the now purring machine. Gently he rolled forward, pushing with his legs before applying the brakes. Stopping with no problem at all, David could see the difference a new set of brakes and callipers made. Trying again, David let the bike roll to the entrance of the garage, applying the brakes again as the bike came to a standing finish immediately. Incredibly happy, David pushed backwards and rolled the bike back towards its resting place suddenly spying his open face motorcycle helmet laying seductively beside the tool box. He noticed he'd still got his jacket on and then looked again to the outside. In a moment of madness that he would later come to regret, David grabbed his helmet and placed it on his head, securing the straps under his chin. Then twisting the throttle, pulling on the clutch and slipping her into first gear, David gave it some gas.

"Fuck it!" He smirked as he released the clutch, the huge engine bubbling over like a beast freshly unleashed. The bike shot forward, the power a pleasant surprise to David as he struggled to hold on at first, before he knew it he was at the end of his drive, the rain soaking him through. But he hadn't had enough, he wanted to go further. Not giving a damn about the weather David turned onto the street and floored it, the water spraying up either side of the beautifully crafted bike. As he hurtled through the rain and towards the main street into town he felt his face stinging as he squinted, keeping the rain from blinding him, faster and faster, the downpour never giving up as the blur of black metal whizzed to the junction, slowing slightly before turning left and onto the deserted main road. With more room and a longer stretch of road, David decided to finally see what the bike could do, yanking back on the throttle and hunching down behind the handle bars, head up and eyes only just open. He could feel the difference wider cylinders and bigger pistons had made as they drove the bike on, faster and faster, the four valves of the engine working overtime. The machine was thundering along magnificently, the new suspension springs making every crack in the road pass unnoticed. David could just see the traffic lights up ahead as he approached the town centre, the neon red lights warning him to stop. He applied the brakes in plenty of time, figuring the rain would make it harder than ever to come to a halt. He had reached a gentle pace as he approached the traffic lights, stopping on the line of the four-way intersection and wiping the rain from his face and couldn't be happier with the bike, the last eighteen months of painstaking work finally worth it. He was so happy that as the lights changed to green, David slipped the clutch and gave it some gas without noticing the Mercedes approaching from his left hand side, oblivious to the red light warning it to stop and carrying on regardless. As David started to move off he just noticed it in time, the silver frame a blur, whizzing past as David frantically applied the brake, the front end of the bike stopping instantly, the back end swinging out and around David's left side. The Mercedes missed him, but only by a matter of inches as it shot off down the road, well above the speed limit, and into the cold, dark wet night. David recognised the car though, he'd seen it before. Every day for the last god knows how long. It was Dr Abner's. Taking one last glimpse of the car as it disappeared over the bleak horizon, David looked to the sign at the side of the road. Sure enough Dr Abner was headed towards Green Acre, but at this time? And why such a hurry? Curiosity and gut feeling took over, as David once again popped the clutch and gave the bike some revs, setting off into the darkness, following Dr Abner.

Destination Green Acre.

As the lift doors opened back up on the first floor Nica was completely surprised by what greeted her. Dee's body had been sat in one of the chairs from the nurses' station, head hung forward, partially covering the gaping wound in her chest. Confused, Nica didn't have time to assess the situation thoroughly, so was even more surprised when the chair shot towards her, the casters underneath making a scraping noise on the floor, Dee's head snapping back and flopping over the backrest of the chair. As Dee's body clattered into Nica's wheelchair, blocking the elevator doors, preventing them from shutting, Nica repeatedly pressed the button for the basement. The doors tried shutting, over and over again, but it was no use, they wouldn't shut as long as Dee was there. Suddenly, without any warning, Chucky appeared over Dee's shoulder as he jumped up, screaming furiously and with great anger as he waved the blood stained knife about desperately trying to slash at Nica's face. Leaning back in her wheel chair, the knife a hairs width from making contact Nica closed her eyes and panicked. As Chucky lunged forward even more he brought his right arm swinging back before arcing it towards Nica's face once more. Suddenly Nica opened her eyes and shot up her hand, grabbing Chucky's wrist and pulling him forward and onto her lap. As she kept hold of his arm Nica pulled her own arm back and landed a punch right on the end of his nose, dazing him. Nica grabbed the knife and stupidly threw it out into the corridor of the first floor before grabbing Chucky and doing the same with him. A blur of red hair and multicoloured overalls as he span through the air landing with a 'thump'. Nica quickly grabbed hold of Dee's cold, dead knees and pushed her severed carcass out into the corridor, looking beyond the corpse and spying Chucky now getting to his feet and moving for the knife. As he reached it Nica hit the button for the basement once more and felt ecstatic as the doors began to close. But Chucky was still coming, running, vitriol stamped across his face as he charged the elevator doors screaming bloody murder, his face contorted in rage. The elevator doors shut just in time as Nica breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly the blade of the knife burst through the seam between the two metal doors and stopped inches from Nica's legs. She rolled back, gasping in shock and crying with fear as the knife started to move up towards the top of the doors. Then she realised the knife wasn't moving, the elevator was. As the blade reached the top of the door it suddenly disappeared, the scream coming from the floor above becoming less audible with every second as the elevator descended.

Back on the first floor Chucky was going ballistic. Patients were looking out of the windows in their doors, gobsmacked by what they were seeing. Chucky wasn't bothered about that though. Who was going to believe this lot anyway? The reason they were in here in the first place was because they had a screw loose. No Chucky had bigger things on his mind. First of all, why the fuck was he bleeding? He looked at the leg Nica had more or less torn of as she pinned him to the desk in her room and couldn't believe it. His overalls were ripped open, his leg sliced pretty badly, bleeding profusely. This wasn't supposed to happen. Reaching into his blood stained overalls he pulled out some kind of necklace, the chain dropping to the floor as he looked at it. A black hexagon, with two parallel sides longer than the others, it was black with a blood red ruby sat dead centre. The Heart of Damballa in all its glory. This little thing had given him powers he could never have thought of, even in his wildest dreams. It had recently kept him in this same body for an extended period of time which he had been amazed at. But it seemed the powers weren't limitless after all, as Chucky's worst fear began to rear its ugly head.

He was turning human.

And it hurt like a bitch!

As Dr Roland Abner skidded to a halt at the gates of Green Acre he was distraught. The motorized gate was all the way open, yet still trying to travel past the point it should have stopped, the motor starting to burn as the gate made the same 'clunk' sound over and over again. Leaving the engine running and the lights on, Dr Abner opened the door of his Mercedes and stepped out into the wild storm howling around him. Racing over to the security office, the wind whipping the belt from his dressing gown out behind him, he found Derek, the night watchman, beaten and bruised, not breathing and slumped over the controls for the gate. Dr Abner could have been sick on the spot, but lifting his hands and fighting away the urge, he grabbed Derek by the shoulder and pulled him away from the console, the button releasing and the gate finally coming to a rest. The windows of the office had been completely smashed by various bricks, branches, whatever the escaped inmates could find in their efforts to gain entry to the office and release themselves from their theatre of nightmares. Looking at the CCTV screens, Dr Abner was greeted by the snowy sight of static, no incoming feed from any of the floors inside Green Acre. Feeling even more disturbed, he turned on his heels and raced from the office, back to the sanctuary of his car, slamming the door shut behind him before accelerating towards the parking lot. As he reached the steps up to the lobby, he quickly screeched to a halt and once again sprang from the car. No time to kill the 3.2 litre engine or shut off the fashionable xenon lights, Dr Abner raced up to the shattered glass doors or reception and stepped inside, not knowing what to expect. It was eerily quiet, which he had not been expecting. He had expected rioting, fighting, vandalism, the kind of things you associated with the people in the care of Green Acre. But no, instead there was quiet, some damage, but other than that the lobby was in good shape. As he stepped over to the stairs, bathed in the red emergency lights intermittent flashing, he noticed the blood stains, hand shaped and smeared down the wall as if somebody were in a hurry. Then he saw more, with every step he looked further up the staircase and saw more blood stains, not just on the wall now, but on the floor too. Creeping quietly up, one step at a time he eventually reached the landing of the first floor, bloody hand prints covering the entrance to D-Wing. He took a deep breath and stepped inside, greeted by the revolting sight of Dee as she lay lifeless near the elevator door. Blood looked like it had been practically mopped around her, the floor absolutely covered in it as it dried, taking on a tacky feeling. Snapping from his day dream he snapped his neck right and looked down the hall at the doors all securely locked, making his way down to the nurses' station. Just as he suspected, the alarm had been activated and the glass security screen had been raised automatically, but somehow it had been obliterated. As he took a step further he stopped dead in his tracks, spinning and seeing the broken, mutilated bodies of Lynn, James and Paul, like Dee not breathing. Dead. He pulled his hands to his mouth, the shock making his body cold, then looked further down the hall. Something wasn't right. One of the doors was open, as though it had been opened on purpose from outside. As he started to walk he gathered pace, eventually beginning to run, then sprint. As he'd suspected, the room belonged to none other than Nica Pirce. This really upset things for him. He closed his eyes as he entered the door way and stepped into Nica's room, not sure he wanted to see the sight that would greet him. As he opened his eyes he was surprised. Not in a good way either. True, there was no Nica, which was a good thing, there was a chance she was still alive and his plans wouldn't be brought crashing down, a blazing inferno. But there was blood all over the place. The floor, the bed... The he noticed Dr Weston. How had he not seen her? She was sat with her back up against the head board of Nica's bed, wrapped in some sheets, drifting in and out of consciousness her face grey, blood still seeping from her neck as she fought the hardest battle of her life.

"Abigail!" Dr Abner muttered in shock. She opened her eyes, drowsy and looked straight at him. The whispering, she opened her mouth to address him.

"You..." She very slowly, quietly whispered. "It's true... All of it..."

"What? What is?" He asked her, stunned by her response. "What's happened here?"

"The doll!" She started to get worked up, her energy coming from god knows where. "It's alive... It came for her!"

"What? Don't be absurd!" He shot back at her, sympathy the last emotion to drip from his tone.

"You know... What that means... Roland?" She gasped as she took her breath. "She was telling... The truth!"

"What? Who was?" He spat.

"Nica... Your drug... Your precious Ethlandrone..." She smiled. "You've cured nothing... You're a fraud!"

"How do you...?" He asked, startled.

"Oh... I know..." Abigail cut in. "How can you... Cure her, when... She was telling... Us the truth.. All along?" She started laughing, hysterically.

With that last comment Dr Abner lost it. He leapt onto the bed and grabbed Dr Weston by the throat, the screams of her pain echoing out around the facility as he increased the pressure, a madness taking over his mind, a crazed look spreading across his face as he slowly strangled her, the life she had laboured to cling onto gradually wrestled away from her at the last moment by Dr Abner. As she slumped forward, eyes shut, Dr Abner released his grip and looked at his hands. The blood from Dr Weston's neck had made a mess of him as he knelt and started to shake, disgusted with himself for giving and committing the ultimate sin. He jumped off the bed and ran to the door, desperate to get out of here and find Nica. As he reached the door a huge, huilking monster of a figure came into view, the silhouette blocking out any of the red light entering the room. In front of Dr Abner stood the 6' 7" frame of none other than his usually, heavily guarded and restrained patient, Melvin Hopwood. Heavily tattooed, not a hair on his head, his jumpsuit fit to burst as the raw mountain of muscle tried to erupt from underneath he stood before Dr Abner, a menacing look of joy on his features.

"Melvin?!" Dr Abner said in a state of shock, backpedalling at a furious rate. "What are you doing out?"

"We're all out doc!" He calmly replied, looking down at his hands, like shovels.

"But how?" Dr Abner asked, suddenly fearing for his life.

"Didn't she tell you?" Melvin teased.

"No!" Dr Abner tried to remain calm. Melvin lifted his hands up as if examining them, then turned his gaze to Dr Abner.

"The doll let us out!"

With that Melvin Hopwood stepped towards Dr Abner and lifted his hands, grabbing the doctor, either side of his head, pressing his thumbs into his eyes and applying a tremendous amount of pressure. Dr Abner screamed as he felt his eyes, pushed back into his brain, begin to implode under the punishment Melvin was inflicting upon them. He knew this was the end as his life flashed across his brain. His children, his wife, his job but more selfishly, his lifes work. His screams rang out, agony and terror rolled into one as the other patients stared from their windows waiting to see Melvin Hopwood emerge. But he never did. As soon as his thumbs were knuckle deep in Dr Abner's eye socket he relinquished his grasp and let the doctor's body drop to the ground, flinching, before coming to rest in the middle of Nica Pirce's room. The Melvin simply sat on the bed and propped Dr Weston up in a much more dignified manner, she'd always been kind to him, gentle, everything Dr Abner hadn't been really.

Then that was it.

The only thing Melvin could do was sit and wait.

As the elevator arrived at the basement level, Nica quickly wheeled herself out, looking for something nearby to wedge between the doors. The way she was thinking, if the doors couldn't shut, then the little fucker couldn't follow her down unless he took the stairs. As she entered the maze of the basements corridors she accidentally wandered a touch too far, the sound of the elevator doors sliding shut behind her as she wheeled back in one last ditch attempt to reach them. She was too late. Looking at the digital readout above the door she could see that the elevator had travelled back up to the first floor. Quickly she tried to move, wheeling down the corridor and trying every door imaginable. Eventually she came to a huge area, open layout, full of stuff. Boxes, shelves, things covered over with dust sheets. She heard the elevator arrive down the corridor, the doors once again sweeping open, the accompanying 'ping' sound alerting people to its presence. She found a stack of shelves and hid behind them, hoping, praying that he wouldn't look here. Leaning forward and looking out into the corridor she could see the shadow of Chucky, knife grasped in his hand as he walked down towards the room she was hidden in. He'd occasionally stop and check the doors, making sure he wasn't heading straight past her. Evenutally, Nica feared, he'd find this room, and in turn, find her. She spun her head around.

"There must be something!" She whispered to herself as she looked left and right. She noticed something protruding from one of the boxes. Quietly wheeling forward she grabbed the handle of an old umbrella and pulled it from the box. As she pulled it, the box fell forward, hitting the ground with a 'thud' the contents spilling out across the floor. Syringes, surgical dressing, gauzes rolled across the floor and came to a stop at her feet. She clenched her teeth hoping to God it wasn't loud enough to be heard out in the corridor. As she turned and looked to the doorway she saw Chucky's shadow stop suddenly and turn towards the doorway, running at a steady pace, the blade of the knife causing the reflection of the light to flash up and down the walls. He reached the door just as Nica wheeled herself back behind the stack of metal shelves. It all went quiet as Nica held her breath, every nerve in her body tingling. Then she heard his voice. Teasing, taunting, saturated with sickness as he enjoyed the chase, his prey edging closer with every step.

"Nicaaaaaa..." His voice trailed off. She could hear his little boots clicking slightly with every step he took. "Come out, come out, wherever you are..." He called.

Nica could tell he was enjoying himself. His weird, warped mind taking great pleasure from the fact that Nica was next to helpless and in no position to keep fighting as she had already done. Then she heard him stop moving and again start to talk.

"You know, your mother never had a chance to hide." He said. "Just came down and found little old me right there on the floor. The look on her face..." He started laughing, cackling to himself, slowly becoming hysterical, slightly psychotic as he remembered. "It was just like old times!"

Nica knew what he was doing. He was trying to flush her out, find her without leaving himself exposed. He didn't want a fair fight. Well he'd have to try harder than that.

"She was a basket case, slut way before I ever got to her!" His tone turned menacing as he shook his fist, the knife clenched firmly. "See Nica, I could take rejection. If that was all it turned out to be then I'd never have given you this sick existence you've had to endure. But to call the cops on me?" He started getting louder, angrier.

Still Nica remained calm.

"Barb was much more fun though." He continued. "The look of terror, she didn't know what the fuck was going on. I don't know what was running through her mind." He stopped, as if to contemplate something. "Well I have an idea!" He lifted the knife and examined the blade, smirking and quietly laughing to himself.

Nica tried to look round the corner, gauge where he was. She couldn't stomach this much more. Listening intently, she could hear him taking a step forward, gradually closing in on her position.

"Looks like it'll be just me and Alice after all then Nica," He coolly said. "I think I could handle the old girl if I gave it another shot. Stupid bitch just didn't know when the fuck to die! How's that? Uncle Chucky huh?" Another laugh.

Suddenly and without warning Chucky was upon her, leaping round the corner, straight into her view, the knife raised devilishly above his head, the vacant, psychotic look of evil staring dead at her.

"BOOOO!" He screamed as she jumped a mile, feeling her body go limp, her chest squeezing, gasping for breath. She reached out, clutching at thin air as her world started to become cloudy and muffled. She was having an attack, pretty much like she had done before. Her heart unable to take the strain any longer. She needed her shot, the adrenaline tucked safely away beneath her seat. As Chucky looked on at Nica, reaching out to nobody, struggling to breathe and blinking her eyes he was confused. What the fuck was she doing? The last time he'd had this affect on somebody was back Kent Military school years ago. He didn't like it then and he sure as hell didn't like it now. This really did take all the fun out of things. He was miles away, in a world of his own, wondering what to do next when he was alerted to the presence of somebody else, rushing him, something in their hands, then it all went upside down as Chucky, once again, found himself flying through the air, pain screaming down the right hand side of his face. Dazed and confused, he landed in the corner of the room in the middle of a pile of cardboard boxes. Not able to move. The last thing Nica saw was David, dripping wet and a look of disbelief on his face. He grabbed her arms and looked at her in shock.

"Nica?" He asked. "Are you alright? What the hell's happening?"

Nica pointed under her chair, unable to say a word, her back seizing up in pain as her lungs started to burn. David following her hand looked underneath and grabbed the medi-kit from beneath her, carefully unzipping it and removing the syringe and vial of adrenaline. Taking one look at Chucky before turning back to the syringe David's eyes were wild. What the fuck had he walked into? Was that a midget? What the fuck? Carefully piercing the foil across the top of the vial, David pulled the plunger upwards, sucking the fluid into the glass tube of the syringe. Once full he withdrew the needle and gave the plunger a quick press, checking the needle was clear. It was. Nica sat back, frantic with worry, quickly and urgently jabbing at her chest, indicating where David had to inject her. Without even thinking about it, David lined the needle up and pulled back, suddenly ramming the syringe home, through Nica's breast plate and into her heart before depressing the plunger fully. Nica dropped forward, as though dead, and David didn't know what to do. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Chucky start to move, only his hands, but it wouldn't be long before he was up again. David still couldn't believe what he had witnessed, but logic went straight out the window as David stood and steppe round the back of Nica, pushing her out of the room and into the corridor, turning left and heading past the mailroom and down towards the underground parking lot of the facility. As he pushed her through the double doors of the parking lot he could see his bike, over near the exit, and decided against it. She was unconscious and would never be able to hang on. The only other option was one of Green Acres ambulances. Coming to a stop at the back of the first ambulance he opened the door and climbed into the driver's seat, dropping the sun visor to reveal a set of keys. Grateful for this bit of luck he ran to the back of the ambulance and unfolded the ramp before quickly wheeling a passed out Nica into the back and shutting the doors. As he folded the ramp back up he looked towards the double doors and could see the shadow of Nica's tormenter approaching, knife swinging wildly as he yelled expletive after expletive at the both of them.

Chucky didn't know what the fuck had just happened, all he knew was that he had that bitch right where he wanted her and once again she'd been saved in the nick of time. He staggered down the corridor, noticing the double doors at the other end still swaying from the last couple to use them. He lifted his hand to his face and ran his finger under his nose. More blood! He was getting pissed now. The amulet had started getting weak and he had no idea why. This was never mentioned to him and he'd be fucked if he was going to be left high and dry yet again. As he crashed through the doors he found himself in a parking lot, a motorcycle and a row of ambulances greeted him. Suddenly the very first ambulance in the line up roared into life, the driver putting his foot down as he lifted the clutch. Chucky looked to his left, the exit was right beside him, they had to go past. Sensing this, the driver had put his foot down before Chucky could figure out his next step, but it was too late. As the ambulance headed for the exit, Chucky started sprinting as fast as he could, but he was losing strength, losing power, no matter what he did he didn't feel invincible like he had done. As the ambulance drove past, Chucky jumped, digging his knife into the side of the vehicle and hanging on for dear life.

David was sure he'd gotten away, that whatever was stalking Nica hadn't managed to get inside the ambulance. He hurtled through the exit and into the heavy rain and blistering winds outside, the ambulance catching the back end of his beautiful Norton motorcycle, sending it spinning in a shower of sparks and metal. David couldn't believe it, he shook his head as he thought of the time and money he'd spent on the bike. Then he found himself wondering if this wasn't all just some sick dream. As he thought that, a knife came tearing through the side of the ambulance, down the driver's side, in the back. David had been wrong, whatever it was had indeed hitched a ride, and now it was trying to get in. He could hear it as he tore past the security gate, the rain lashing at the windscreen, the wipers struggling to keep his vision clear, the thunder and lightning fighting it out above their heads. The screams and furious cursing going on outside were drowned out slightly as the ambulance raced from the dirt track and bounced onto the highway. David whipped the steering wheel left, the ambulance skidding into the middle of the road, the back end sliding out as David tried to correct it and straighten up. Just then a car came hurtling towards them as the ambulance finally regained its composure and crossed back over the white lines to the correct side of the road.

David wasn't sure if whatever had come after Nica was still there, but one thing was for sure.

He wasn't about to stop and find out.

The police car narrowly missed the back end of the ambulance as its back skidded out in front of them, the driver regaining control and safely guiding back over the white lines. Officers Travis Mayer and Erik Chistensen were alarmed at first, but then figured maybe the driver swerved to avoid a fox. Foxes were pretty common in this part of the town. The forests that surrounded Green Acre probably sheltered more wildlife than an Amazon rainforest during weather like this. Turning off the highway and down the dirt track Officer Christensen leaned forward and grabbed the radio of the Highgate Police Department squad car.

"Control this is Christensen in car 443. We are en-route to Green Acre. ETA one minute." He said as he relaxed in the passenger seat of the squad car, Officer Mayer carefully navigating them down the sludgy track. The radio crackled back into life, control confirming the transmission.

"Roger that car 443, advise status when on the scene." The control officer responded, just legible over the static.

"Will do control. Has the registered contact not checked in yet?" Christensen asked.

"Negative car 443. Registered contact is one Dr Roland Abner. Be advised Dr Abner may be on site." Control came back.

"Roger that control." Christensen acknowledged. "Will check in ASAP." With that he replaced the radio in the cradle and sat back, the gates of Green Acre appearing on the dark horizon, another fork of electricity lighting up the sky, lending the asylum a foreboding presence. As they approached the gate, wide open Chirstensen looked towards the security office.

"Jesus Christ!" He shot Mayer a concerned look as he too glanced over. Broken glass covered the floor, the door swinging in the ferocious winds as the rain belted down, bouncing off the blood stained tarmac. Mayer flicked a switch and the immediate area lit up, intermittent flashes of blue and red, as the squad cars emergency lights flared into life. Before the car even came to a stop Christensen was out of the car and racing towards the office, his imposing stature enough to strike fear into even the most hardened of criminals that may just be waiting inside. He removed his gun from the holster and grabbed the torch from his belt, extending the weapon in his right hand whilst resting his left hand, torch and all, across his right wrist steadying the beam as it shot out across the floor and into the security office. At thirty two years old he'd already seen his fair share of brutality in the line of duty. But right now, as the rain fell heavily weighing down his hat, making it an effort just to move his head, he had a gut feeling that this was to be a night like no other. Sure enough, inside, he found the deceased body of a security guard and flashed his light around the office, making sure they were alone before checking for any sign of life. Kneeling down he noticed the name badge, 'Derek Holloway', and checked for a pulse, placing two fingers just under Derek's chin. As expected there was nothing. Derek had been badly beaten, his bruised face and lacerations telling a rather chilling tale. Suddenly Christensen was joined by Mayer as he raced from the car, hand on his hat in an effort to stop the wind ripping it off. Surveying the scene, Officer Mayer didn't have much hope.

"Is he...?" He asked Christensen.

"Yeah." He replied calmly, grabbing his radio from his belt. He raised it to his mouth as he turned to look at Mayer. "Control this is Christensen up at Green Acre. We have a disturbance up here, one fatality, requesting back-up."

"Roger that Christensen," Control responded over the airwaves. "Confirm one fatality?"

"Indeed control, requesting backup ASAP." He repeated.

"Roger your request for back-up, be advised back-up is en-route, ETA fifteen minutes." Control once again came in, just audible.

Dropping his radio back to his belt he looked back out into the storm and at the facility. He wasn't looking forward to this one bit, but he had to put a brave face on. Officer Travis Mayer, his partner wasn't long out of the academy and still occasionally needed his ass wiping. As he looked at him, probably 140lbs wet through, twenty four years old and in a state of shock Officer Christensen figured this was probably the first dead body Mayer had ever seen.

"You okay man?" He asked, genuinely concerned. Mayer's face didn't alter one bit, but he nodded rapidly. "You sure? I need to know before we head in there." Christensen flicked his head in the direction of the facility and Mayer turned and looked, fear etched on his face. Again, he nodded.

"Yeah, let's get going." He replied as he turned back towards the car.

Standing, Christensen ran after him and back to the warm sanctuary of the squad car. Both men jumped in and started down the incline to the visitor parking lot, taken aback by what they found as they pulled up.

"What the hell?" Mayer asked nobody in particular.

There in the thundering rain and howling gale sat a Mercedes, lights on, door open and engine running. Pulling up behind it and cutting power to the engine, both men stepped out, back into the storm. Pulling out their torches and giving the car a look over, they found nothing suspicious apart from the fact it had been left in the state they currently found it. Christensen reached inside the driver's door and grabbed the key, twisting it back as the engine suddenly died, the warning 'beep' from inside indicating the driver had left the lights on. He slammed the door shut and nodded towards the lobby doors. Taking time to survey the surroundings for any possible threat, the officers walked up the steps and through the empty space that had, until recently, been the beautiful glass doors of the entrance to Green Acre. Their torches once again whipped around, but the lobby was in remarkably good condition, besides the shattered glass from the doors that was. Mayer took a walk over to the reception area and picked up the phone, placing the receiver to his ear. He placed it back in its cradle and shone his torch over to Christensen, shaking his head, indicating the phone lines were out. As Mayer walked back over to Christensen, the glass crunching under his feet as he crossed the lobby he caught something with his torch, something over by the staircase.

"Fuck me!" He whispered hoarsely.

Hearing him, Christensen turned and focused on his light. There at the bottom of the staircase he noticed a hand print. Not any hand print, a bloody hand print. Both men cautiously approached the bottom of the staircase and flashed their torches up, into dark red abyss of the emergency lights. Taking a step at a time they began to notice more and more. More hand prints, more smears of blood, splatters of blood had flown up the walls there was even quite a lot of it smeared across the floor as they walked, their shoes sticking ever so slightly as they carried on upwards into God only knows what awaited them. Eventually they reached the first floor, the door greeting them with the same smears and bloody hand prints. Looking at each other and refraining from making a sound they prepared to quietly open the door and enter D-Wing. Christensen raised is left hand, fingers and thumbs fully extended and began to mouth the numbers as he counted down. Mayer nodded and gently cocked his weapon as he brought it up the side of his face. Christensen counted, not making a sound, but with every finger that disappeared feeling like a thunderbolt between the eyes of his young partner.

'5'... '4'... '3'... '2'... '1'...

They opened the door and stepped onto D-Wing, the unit disturbingly quiet. Looking down towards the lift they saw the lifeless body of a nurse, face down on the floor, a revolving office chair laid across her back. They raced over, putting their weapons away and lifted the chair from Dee's back before turning her over, Officer Mayer instantly vomiting at the sight they were greeted with. As they surveyed the gruesome vivisection scar that adorned Dee's body Officer Christensen guessed there wasn't much point checking for a pulse. Reaching for his radio he called in to control.

"Control this is Christensen. Come in control." He whispered as loudly as he felt he could. The radio crackled back loudly as Christensen fumbled for the volume controls.

"This is control, go ahead, over." The reply instantaneous.

"Another fatality control. Female, about twenty years old, had the hell cut out of her. Any news on that back-up?" He asked

"Be advised, back-up is en-route, ETA ten minutes." Control responded. "Is there sign of any possible threat?"

"Negative control." Christensen shot back, "We'll keep on looking."

"Roger that." Control came back before dying to nothing.

"Come on," Christensen muttered to Mayer, his partners face ashen and troubled. "Let's check down here." He nodded back down towards the nurses' station.

As both men stood, Mayer held onto the wall as he tried to regain composure, placing his hat back on his head. As they started walking they both withdrew their weapons again, held firmly in both hands, pointed towards the floor. The scene at the nurses' station was equally as devastating, the broke, lifeless and tortured bodies of Lynn, James and Paul suddenly appearing as they passed the desk, the glass once again cracking underfoot. They stood taking it all in for a few seconds before Christensen once again grabbed the radio. He was about to speak when Mayer tapped him on the shoulder. He dropped his radio to his side and allowed his eyes to follow the direction in which Mayer was pointing. Sure enough he saw it. One of the doors was open, a noise could be heard emanating from within. Christensen replaced the radio on his belt and both men quickly, but quietly hot footed it down to the open door of room 1-32, the name on the plate besides the door reading 'Nica Pirce'. As they stood outside the room they listened intently at the noise coming from within. Was it... Was it crying? That's what it sounded like. They regained composure and once again Christensen held his hand up, fingers and thumb extended. Nodding that he understood, Mayer pulled his weapon back up and took a deep breath as Christensen counted down. It passed much more quickly this time, almost instantly in fact. The second they reached zero both men leapt into the open doorway, weapons extended not knowing what could be waiting for them. Their faces went blank, their minds were blown by the devastation inside. The body of a man lay on the floor, eyes a bloody pulp, torment and terror forever chiselled across his face. Another body, of a woman, sat propped up against one end of the bed, her throat cut from ear to ear, blood smeared across her torso, her face peaceful yet pale, drip white. As they took in the scene, the gargantuan frame of Melvin Hopwood emerged from the bed, tears running from his eyes, a crazed look on his features. Both men raised their weapons, instinct taking over.

"STOP WHERE YOU ARE!" Mayer shouted.

But it was no use. Palms out in front of him, crying like a baby, Melvin took a huge step.

"WE MEAN IT," Christensen yelled. "DON'T MOVE. NOT A FUCKING STEP!"

But he kept coming.

"She was the only one that was nice to me!" Cried Melvin as he took another step. "I tried to help her!"

The blood across his hands told the officers a different story entirely and as Melvin took another step they had no other option. Each firing two shots, Melvin dropped instantly to the floor, dead before he hit the ground as a bullet passed straight through his heart and the blood spilled forward, surrounding his body in a pool of blood. Looking at each other in a mixture of shock and relief the officers blinked their eyes, as though they couldn't believe what they were seeing. Suddenly the radio crackled back into life as control tried to reach them once more.

"Car 443 come in. Car 443 do you read me?" Control came in.

"This is Christensen control, proceed." He replied.

"Reports of a Green Acre ambulance driving recklessly, headed eastbound on the highway. Last sighting O'Mallie's farm!"

As control finished it dawned on both men what had happened. Their minds racing back to fifteen minutes previous, the ambulance that nearly took them out on the highway. It wasn't swerving to avoid an animal, it was escaping from this hell hole. Flicking the switch on the radio, Christensen shot back to control.

"Roger control. We're on our way!"

As they raced back into the corridor and towards the staircase both men began to think pretty much the same thing.

Could tonight get any weirder?

Out on the highway, rain spraying up and almost totally obscuring his vision, David swerved to avoid the broken down station wagon. Relief spread through his veins as he took a look in the wing mirror and saw that despite it being a distance of inches, he'd missed the family that had stood and looked on in terror, running at the last minute as they realised the potential fate awaiting them if they'd stayed next to their vehicle. As he looked through the rear view mirror and into the back of the ambulance, he no longer saw any signs of Nica's twisted demon trying to gain access. The knife no longer being constantly forced through the fibreglass walls of Green Acres emergency response vehicle. As he took his foot off the gas a little he turned slightly in his seat and looked at Nica as she lay, still slumped forward, her wheelchair rocking from side to side. He'd never had to administer a shot like that before and wasn't sure how successful he had been. For all he knew Nica could be sitting there dead as a door nail, all this tearing through the torrential rain, down the waterlogged highway could be for nothing. The rain seemed to be getting heavier as he flicked the windscreen wipers up a gear, the metal arms going into overdrive as they raced to clear the window and keep David's vision clear. Another flash of lightning as they followed the road, the crackle of thunder erupting high above their heads. The surrounding fields were illuminated in the millisecond of light the flash of electricity provided. Scarecrows were ripped to shreds, fields swamped under the heaviest rainfall David had ever seen, trees were blown over, crushing several farm vehicles. Taking a deep breath David began to relax a touch, still asking himself the same questions over and over in his mind. What was going on? What the hell was that thing? It looked like a doll, but that couldn't be possible... Could it? It seemed intent on harming Nica though and that's when David had finally come in, following the voices as he'd killed the Nortons engine and walked up the corridor of Green Acres basement, only then passing the door to the storage room and seeing the ensuing scene play out. It had a streak of venom running through every sentence it uttered, gradually stepping over to the only place David figured Nica could be hiding, behind the stack of metal shelves. It was at this moment that David had spotted an old shovel, used for clearing snow from the parking lot during the heavy snowfalls that winter often brought to the area, and grabbed it as he sneaked up on the tiny terror, bringing the shovel arcing back before swinging it towards the 'thing' and catching it unawares, hurling it through the air. As he sat, one eye on the road, the other on Nica's lifeless body his concentration had slipped. It was soon brought crashing back to the forefront though as in the space of one second, David felt pain like he'd never felt before. Hearing the 'chink' of metal on metal he looked down at where the pain was coming from, his left leg, and spotted the knife had come crashing through the driver's door striking him right across the back of the calf muscle. Grimacing and clenching his teeth, David let out a muffled scream, all the while trying to kick the knife away as the blood started to seep down the his freshly torn jeans. He heard a cackle of laughter, madness running through it like a lightning bolt had just ran across the horizon, as the knife again came cutting through the ambulance door and sliced his leg again, higher up this time through his thigh. David let out an even bigger scream this time, startling Nica into life as she started to come round from her medication. Again the knife was withdrawn, disappearing for a few seconds before coming crashing through at an even higher high, severing the top of David's thigh. David couldn't believe the 'thing' was still hanging on, what was the matter with it? How strong was it too? They must have travelled three miles now and it still wasn't letting up, plunging the knife through the back, and now through the front. It obviously wanted David to stop, hence the sudden onslaught of attacks aimed at his leg, but David wasn't in any mood. Pressing his foot down on the accelerator the ambulance again started to pick up speed, a bang heard from the outside of the door as whatever it was had nearly lost its grip and was barely holding on. Suddenly the knife disappeared again and David tensed up, anticipating the next barrage of attacks from the sharp blade. But it didn't come. He heard a thudding noise coming from down the side of the ambulance but figured that could be anything. No doubt this thing had thought about trying to puncture a tyre, but that wouldn't work. The speed they were turning they'd probably rip the knife from its hands, leaving it without any advantage whatsoever. Feeling at his leg and lifting his hand, David was shocked at how much blood had started to escape his wounds. The next thing he had to do once they were safe, was look around in the back and find some bandages and a tetanus shot. His eyes wandered to the rear view mirror again as he attempted to locate some bandages, maybe a bit of gauze and some sterile cream. All he could see though were stacker shelves, gas canisters, a gurney and heart defibrillation equipment. One thing he did know, they wouldn't be stopping for quite a while. Or so he thought.

Shaking her head and taking in the immediate surroundings, Nica was confused. Her vision was clouded, her senses were either screaming at one another or lying dormant and she had no idea where she was. She took a couple of deep breaths and examined the environment. A gurney, defibrillators, she knew where she was immediately. She'd seen this picture many times over her life. She was pretty mystified who was driving though and as she turned to check out her saviour, she couldn't believe it. David was sat at the wheel, the rain battering the windscreen as he cursed and screamed about something. She suddenly saw him bring a hand up, coated in blood, he was hurt. Still dazed and pretty out of it, Nica returned her gaze to the back of the ambulance and took yet another deep breath, her nightgown stained with blood, but whose blood? Then she remembered, Dee, Dr Weston, Grace the countless other bodies that had been amassed over the course of so little time tonight. She was just sitting there getting her bearings when she heard something. A thudding noise coming from outside the ambulance to her right. She had no idea what it could be, maybe they'd picked up a puncture, maybe something was stuck under a wheel arch. Suddenly and without warning Nica screamed as the realism was swept hom, the knife once again charging through the side of the ambulances back panels. The blade was longer than she remembered, still slightly stained with blood, now quickly and repeatedly piercing the ambulance trying in a valiant effort to injure her. It couldn't have been further away from her if it had tried, but that didn't matter to Nica, she screamed as she realised the ordeal wasn't over, Chucky still relentlessly pursuing her to the end. Then it stopped, the knife retreating from the side of the ambulance and instead replaced with a high pitched, mental scream as the window of the ambulance suddenly erupted in a shower glass, the shards cutting Nica's face as she was engulfed in the blast. Chucky landed right beside her in the ambulance and quickly got to his feet rage and anger evident through every aspect of his character as he stood in front of Nica with the knife held aloft. She feared this was it as he stood there shrieking. By the time David could pull over she would be dead, then David would follow, another needless victim, another life ruined and brought to such an early and messy end because of Nica. As Chucky smiled he was about to leap at her, his target in his sights at last, he could smell the blood now. Then he was taken completely by surprise as David slammed on the brakes, Nica's wheelchair flying up to the top end of the ambulance and crashing into David's seat, Chucky also thrown from his feet and sent hurtling into the front of the ambulance, hitting the windscreen and landing on the floor between the front seat and the dashboard. David again changed gear and kicked on the gas, hitting the release button for the rear door as he went. As the ambulance started to instantly pick up speed Nica looked up and saw the rear doors opening in front of her, the hard wet tarmac awaiting her outside as she rolled towards the doors and into the road, her wheelchair shattering in hundreds of pieces as she made contact with the asphalt. Pretty unharmed she placed her palms on the ground, the rain wetting her through as the thunder and lightning crackled above. She spun her head and could just see the ambulance as it picked up speed down the highway before suddenly swerving viciously off to the left and down the embankment, into the trees lining the road besides the farmland. Nica was worried about what had made the ambulance swerve. Had Chucky killed David? What if he had? She turned herself around and started crawling, her hair drenched from the downpour of rain, matting together and blinding her as the weight made it heavy, falling in front of her eyes. Inch by inch, she crawled, hoping, praying that David was alive.

Seeing Nica thrown from the back of the ambulance had been too much for Chucky. He'd had her. He'd had her right there in front of him, seconds away from delivering the same punishment to her as he had to so many people throughout the course of his life. As Chucky picked himself up from the floor of the ambulances passenger foot well he decided enough was enough. Pulling the knife up he had jumped at David, but David had seen this coming. Yanking the steering wheel to the left he'd sent them plummeting down the grassy embankment, the ambulance stopping as it hit the bottom bumper first, smashing into the trees at the bottom. As Chucky looked around he could see David slumped up against the steering wheel, unconscious, but alive. Blood running from the gash on his forehead as he lay there. Chucky also found himself in pain, hampered by the dashboard, now caved in and pinning his legs against the passenger seat. He tried to move and it hurt. It hurt a lot, but he could move, he wriggled trying to get himself free, ready to take advantage of David laying prone against the steering wheel. He knew what he had to do and he wasn't about to let yet another chance slip through his fingers!

The rain practically drowning Nica, she battled to remain conscious as she crawled along the tarmac, fighting the will to go to sleep, to drift off. She looked at the sky, the clouds, big, grey and filthy looking, gathering rapidly overhead, the rain getting heavier with every drop and the thunder clapping against her ear drums, louder every time. She stopped, her energy depleted amazed at how far she had come, she was still quite a way off, but could see the top of the ambulance and the trees it had obviously made contact with at the bottom of the embankment. Stopping for a second she looked up, the rain lashing at her face. An arm outstretched in the vicinity of the ambulance, screaming at the top of her lungs.

"DAVID!" She bellowed, but nothing came back.

Suddenly, with no remorse, the ambulance lit up, exploding in a colossal ball of fire and scrap as a bolt of lightning thrown from the violent skies overhead, struck it, igniting the fuel and gas canisters at once. Nica screamed in terror, the stark realisation that David was probably still inside dawning on her immediately. As she started to weep she felt her vision once again clouding, the sound of the rain hazy as the blue and red lights approached from behind. Then all at once she passed out. Dead to the world.

As she slowly came around again, she noticed the familiar decor of the ambulance. The medic attending to her noticed she had woken up and put an arm across her shoulders, willing her to stay still.

"Back with us huh?" He asked, his unkempt silver hair and gleaming white smile making Nica feel quickly at ease.

"David?" She asked immediately. Trying to sit up, despite the medics best efforts.

"He's fine." The medic said, his hands up in a calming motion. "He's following on behind, he's in a bad way."

"Bad?" She asked. "How bad?" Urgency in her voice.

"Bad... But fixable." The medic laughed. "Mainly concussion, he's just taken a pretty big bang to the head, he's struggling to remember anything right now. Name, date of birth, the usual stuff things like this make you forget. Don't worry about it though, it's perfectly normal."

"Is he going to be alright?" Nica enquired.

"He's gonna be just fine."

"But the lightning. It hit the ambulance!"

"Well if it did, then he's in pretty good shape miss." He put his hands on her shoulders and urged her to lay back down as the ambulance rattled along towards the hospital. "Trust us, he'll be good as new."

"What about the doll?" She asked.

"I'm sorry?" He tilted his head a little, confused at the last question.

"There was a doll. In the ambulance." She started, but thought better of telling the full story. "It was mine, it meant a lot to me. Is there any signs of it?"

"To be honest I'd wondered about that." He replied laughing. "Bits of it everywhere I'm afraid. Must've been caught in the explosion. Bit of plastic here, bit of clothes there, that thing was destroyed, and I mean destroyed. Sorry"

Nica closed her eyes and smiled. Surely that was it. The end. She wasn't sure how all this was going to play out from here, but she knew one thing, it couldn't be any worse than the last six months.

Later that day, just hours after the last squad car had left the site, a car gently pulled up along the side of the highway, the early morning sun glistening on the hood. The long black Audi A4 ground to a halt before the driver killed the engine and opened the door. A long, stocking clad leg emerged, gracefully standing as the stilettos struck the burnt asphalt with a click. Slamming the car door, the girl looked around, seeing if anybody else was here, anybody within earshot. Clutching her hand bag over her shoulder, she took a step towards the edge of the embankment and started to walk down sideways, the long pointed heels of her stilettos digging into the grass, her incredibly short and tight fitting mini dress riding up with every step down. The sunglasses she had perched across the bridge of her nose only served to highlight the blonde, shoulder length hair she had styled with a gentle curl as it cascaded down her shoulder. As she reached the bottom she examined the scorched grass and looked around, trying to find something in particular. She took a step and found a piece of blue overall, the partly legible 'Good Guy' logo almost burned beyond recognition. Bits of charred plastic were scattered around the immediate area, as well as further afield. Spinning, she was beginning to get agitated, something definitely troubling her. Then all at once she stopped. A smile crossing the beautiful face as she stepped across the burnt grass, towards one of the many blackened trees, burnt to a cinder by the events of the night before. Lifting her hand to one of the branches she gently grabbed the hexagon shaped necklace as it hung by its chain and ripped it clear of the tree. She looked at it, inspecting it for damage and seemed happy. She turned it over in her hands, inspecting the back before, seemingly happy with her find, she opened her bag and slipped the necklace inside. With her task accomplished she then made the even harder trip back up the embankment, her heels digging into the drenched grass once again, every stride exposing the top of her stockings before she finally reached the highway and returned to the comfort of her car. Pushing the starter and setting off, leaving behind nothing but a cloud of dust.


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The week that followed had been a long and arduous one. With Nica's background it was inevitable that she be questioned extensively by the police regarding the incidents at Green Acre. But with no evidence, no motive and the police scratching their heads as to how Nica could have even began to instigate the kind of bedlam that had occurred, they had no choice but to release her without charge and send her back to Green Acre. The first floor had been completely shut down, the patients moved as the scene was photographed by forensics, a detailed breakdown of events beginning to take shape as technicians monitored the log from the security system. Nica wasn't there long though. With the unfortunate demise of Dr Roland Abner had come good news, as his fellow board member Dr Harold Winstead had flown in from San Diego and given the green light to plans for Nica to fly back with him. Ethlandrone had been heralded a success and now Nica was to finally reap the benefits of assisted living that had once seemed so ugly, so demeaning. It was something the board at Etho-Lab Pharmaceuticals had been quick to push through, no red tape, they wanted to cement this thing and have it approved as quickly as possible. This was, in their words, to be the late, great, Dr Abner's legacy. One that promised a better future for all in similar predicaments as Nica. David hadn't been as lucky. Spending two weeks in hospital, treated for the trauma from his ongoing concussion before finally discharging himself, against the doctor's advice. He had been in touch with Nica and had now arranged to visit her in San Diego. He'd sounded rough on the phone, not knowing what to say and still struggling with a slight amnesia, but seemingly remembering everything about Nica. But she knew how such an event could mess with the head and was sure a trip to the west coast would do him good. She now sat looking forward to his arrival. Any time now.

As the cab approached the end of the street the driver felt a hand on his shoulder. Slightly unusual, but nothing to be alarmed about, this wasn't the kind of neighbourhood for trouble, he turned to face his passenger.

"What's up man?" The driver asked.

"This is the street?"

"Yeah we're almost there." The driver replied.

"Forget it, just drop me here. I'll need a cigarette before I get there."

"Hey, you're the boss." He looked at the display and turned back to his passenger. "That'll be $25 man." The money landed in his hand before he even finished the sentence, $40.

"Consider that a tip my good friend."

"Hey thanks man. You got a name? You give me a holler when you're headed back to airport and I'll squeeze you in!" The cab driver raised his voice.

The passenger turned, his sports bag thrown over his shoulder, cigarette hanging from his lip as he cupped his hands and struck the flint of the lighter.

"Yeah, the name's Jacobs." He replied shouting back to the driver, a gust of nicotine infused smoke leaving his lips. "David Jacobs."

"See you around then David Jacobs." The cab driver yelled, laughing as he wound his window up putting the money in his wallet before safely stowing it under the driver's seat. If he kept this up then maybe he'd take the kids bowling tonight. With that he hit the gas and headed off, the radio exploding into life with news of another call.

As he walked down the narrow street, he couldn't help but notice the dwellings all bore a striking resemblance. All were bungalows, which was to be expected, this was an assisted living complex, but each one looked exactly the same, nothing unique about them whatsoever. Blandness oozed from every brick, the same little manicured garden sitting out front, each with the same driveway and the same gates. He felt a little sick looking at it all to be honest. As he finally reached the house and looked up from the hand written note bearing the address he was satisfied he'd got the right one. This one was the only one with a ramp, doing over the course of ten metres what 2 steps could do in the matter a couple of feet. He took one last puff on the cigarette and dropped it casually to the floor, stubbing it out with his boot before looking round and feeling the beginning of summer wash over him. He hated summer, with a passion. He much preferred the shorter days and longer, colder nights of winter. He always had ever since he was a child. Opening the gate and stepping through onto the path he jumped up the steps and rang the doorbell, taking another look at the house number. This was it, number 13. Suddenly the door swung inwards and he was greeted by the beautiful smiling face of Nica, she beamed from ear to ear ash she saw him.

"David!" She gushed putting her arms out. "I had no idea you'd be here yet, my god!"

"Hey Nica," He said as she grabbed him. He handed her a bunch of yellow flowers, hoping she'd appreciate the gesture. "I picked these up for you. Hope you like them."

"David I love them." She said, wheeling back with the flowers on her lap, welcoming him in.

He stepped inside and dropped his bag from his shoulder, before placing it carefully on the floor of the hall. Nica noticed it looked heavy, and full.

"Wow, what you got in that thing?" She asked, laughing.

"Ah, just this and that." He said standing straight. "Something smells good, what you having?"

"Oh, just some stew a friend gave me. I'd offer you some, but there's hardly any, I was just about to eat if you want to share."

"No, no, it's fine, I ate on the plane." He replied.

Just then something dawned on Nica.

"Shit." She spat, remembering something. "I forgot a spoon." She turned to wheel herself off and He stopped her, placing his hands on the back of her wheelchair. He leaned over and placed his head next to hers.

"I'll get it. Where's the kitchen?" He asked.

"Er... Down the hallway, can't miss it." Nica gratefully acknowledged, surprised.

With that Nica wheeled herself into the living room and picked up her bowl of piping hot stew, flicking the remote as the TV fired into life. He set off down the hallway and soon reached the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers looking for the cutlery. Pretty quickly he found the drawer he was looking for. His eyes igniting as his pupils dilated and a smile crossed his face. Reaching into the drawer he grabbed the moulded plastic handle of the butcher knife and removed it from the drawer, holding it tightly and turning it, admiring the blade. His mind suddenly flashed back to that night, the storm, the ambulance, everything, and he was glad he seized the opportunity when he did. The treatment for concussion, the hospital, all of it, for nothing, a waste of time. Of course he didn't remember his date of birth, his mother's maiden name, even his own name. The reason? How could he? He didn't know these things in the first place! What he did remember was the night of November 9th 1988, the last time he had had felt so alive, the last time he'd felt actual flesh crawl with energy. Until recently that was. Thinking back, he remembered that night in the ambulance, as the man that was David Jacobs lay unconscious, unsuspecting, unable to fight back, and finally as Chucky seized his chance, Charles Lee Ray was resurrected, born again in a baptism of fire and lightning, the soul of David Jacobs cast into a never ending pit of torment. Looking into the blade of the knife and seeing the reflection of a complete stranger, Charles Lee Ray smirked before turning on the spot and lifting his head, eyes filled with hate as he looked down the hallway. The sound of the TV echoing along. An malevolent smile spread across his face, the knife clenched tightly, the life of David Jacobs was about to get interesting.

Very interesting indeed.

With that he set off towards the living room.

Towards Nica...


End file.
